Moonlight: Agony
by lupinskitten
Summary: When Victorian London is caught up in a series of brutal murders, and Josef becomes a prime suspect by the police, he must strive to discern the identity of Jack the Ripper and avoid the truth of his vampirism coming out.
1. Chapter 1

I have always been fascinated with this era, so that kind of spurred on this particular story. It has a different flavor than most of my other _Moonlight _fan-fics, but hopefully the writing will speak for itself. Enjoy and please, if you enjoy it, leave me a lovely comment.

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A G O N Y

Water was dripping at the eaves, a solitary, lonely sound against the darkness that surrounded the small room, with its meager furniture and the single candle almost burnt out on the bedside table. The figure that resided on the narrow cot was quiet, almost death-like in his poise, staring at the ceiling in kind of a hypnotic trance that soon caused him to shudder involuntarily and turn over. The room was filled with shadows of a dark variety, sinister in the way they curled against the corners and spread long tendrils across the roof, but they did not seem to bother the occupant of the small set of rooms above the street just left of the tavern. He had been there only a few days, coming and going without much notoriety, only the lady of the house looking after him rather strangely, for he seemed to have no interest either in the noise and confusion of the boisterous pup, nor of the questionable women who frequented the surrounding streets. He looked at them no more than askance, his interest elsewhere, for he was preoccupied. He did not drink, nor demand meals as her other tenants did, but seemed to come and go at odd hours, rather pale and gaunt by most appearances and decidedly unfavorable toward sunlight.

If she had not known better, the landlady would have said that he was hiding from the world, or that he was a laudanum addict, for she had had tenants of that sort before -- with dark circles underneath their eyes, unflinching, violent acts of temperament, and often vanishing for hours, even days, at a time. But no, this one remained much to himself and quiet, observant, curious about London and the winding streets. He was not poor but did not spend lightly, for while his rooms were bare and provincial, he often took a hansom cab and once she had found a scrap of paper from the Opera in one of his cloak pockets. It had fallen to the floor with a name scribbled on it, no more than a careless turn of the pen, a woman's name. It had interested her at the time, for she had not seen him with female callers. Just the one man, who came only twice, the second time being evicted with some force through the narrow doorway at the top of the stairs. He had been a most peculiar man, a sinister man, with one blackened eye that saw nothing, and a cruel turn to his mouth. She had not seen him since, or anyone calling for her tenant, though she listened for the sound of the bell or the light, indiscernible tread of his footstep on the stairs.

No one knew why he had come to London, a place that had held refuge for him in the past, and in many ways, Josef did not know himself, only that the charm of New York had faded into the cobbled streets of a different world, one he sought to escape as Victorian ideals took root in America. Josef had every respect for her as a nation, and for the magnificent cities that had seen so much, but something had drawn him to the land of his origins, and the same stretch of lonely street where he had died. It was such a significant thing, death, for a mortal, but not so for a vampire. Death came and went with the wind, to humans and immortals alike, in infrequent bouts of melancholy or disinterest, through violence or chance, Fate spinning the woven wheel and casting its threads about the room, allowing some to survive and others to perish; sometimes it used individuals, and sometimes it was merely chance -- but it was here that he had died. Many years ago, on his way home after a late night at his studies.

The wind had been brisk and cold for September, and the side streets were solitary, for no one wanted to be out at this ungodly hour. Josef had carried a case beneath one arm with important documents in it, barely old enough to knot his cravat and consider himself reasonably successful in some small venture in the business world. He had been consumed with other thoughts, more profitable thoughts, than the darkness that surrounded him, but all at once as he crossed the square he had become aware of it, aware of the cold and the impending scent of rain, of his loneliness in the yawning emptiness that hastened on his heels, and increased his pace.

She had emerged from the shadows, no more than a slender golden whisper against the night, and he had caught sight of her across the distance, beautiful in what remained of the moonlight. Something warned him to stay away, to turn and run, but he could not; it was as if that invisible thread pulled in the hand of Fate drew him toward her. She was not one of the prostitutes that frequented the area and attempted to entice him with red lips and promises of exquisite sins, but nor was she a lady -- she was something else entirely, something sensual and alluring, something powerful… and evil. He could feel it radiating from her, from the icy hand that reached forward to take his, from the magnificent eyes that would not allow him to turn away. "Come," she had said, and without knowing why, he had followed her into the shadows-- the shadows where he would die. It was not swift nor did he sense it coming, but she had drawn him against her, passing her tongue over his lips and whispering to him meaningless nothings. He had not resisted, nor responded, helpless as she brushed him up against the alley wall and pressed her lips to his throat.

The pain had been immense but somehow also satisfying, but it was the blood that passed between them that he remembered most; it was as if he could feel it draining away, by no natural phenomenon or even the slash of a knife, but being pulled from his veins by the creature that rendered him helpless. At some point, he realized what was happening and struggled, but she was much stronger than him, holding onto him fiercely, as if her life depended on it, sliding them both to the ground as his legs gave out from beneath him. Lola had never told him if it was an accident, if she had meant to take as much as she did. She would not tell him anything, not of herself or what he was to become. Just that when she had pulled away from him, the last bit of life was leaving his slender form, the pages from his valise scattered the length of the ally, his hand white in the moonlight as it rested at his side.

Licking the blood off her fingertips, Lola had looked at him then, as if seeing him for the first time, and a change had come over her features, softening as she brushed the hair out of his face. "My poor darling," she murmured, "I will make it well again," and those two sharp teeth, so beautiful and yet so dangerous, had sunk into her wrist, drawing a drop of blood that sprang to the surface of her translucent skin and shimmered there like a precious nectar. She reached out to him and tilted her arm up, so that the blood dropped onto his parted lips, open as he gasped his final breath.

Death was not a pleasant experience, nor anything he desired to encounter ever again. There was nothing romantic about it, no final accumulation of thoughts or wishes, nothing but a blind, numbing pain that spread through him like fire licking at his veins and rendered him motionless. A stiffening of muscles, a tightening that faded into unconsciousness; but it was rebirth that was the most remarkable, a delicate transition of colors and sounds shifting into perspective. The ability to hear distinct sounds at a great distance, a sharpening of the senses, and most of all, a weightlessness, a fearlessness… and a hunger, so violent and vicious that it could not be denied. It was memories of this that haunted him, that caused him to remember, that had brought him back to this eerie place. Josef recalled the eerie moment of transition between death and un-life, the slow but gradual knowledge of whom and what he was, the realization that his heart no longer beat in his chest.

It had been well over two hundred years since that monumental night, two hundred and some odd years of madness and docility, of unforgivable actions and recompense, of pleasant encounters and unforgettably horrific ones. The first twenty years of his life as an immortal had been the most memorable, as he had cut a swath through London with the assistance of Lola, discovering that his sadistic side was matched only by her own, but with age he had grown docile, wealthy, content in his power and authority, certain that no one would ever shake him up again. And then he had met Coraline. Beautiful, dark, evasive, she had been merely a face among the crowd, one of many who turned out to listen to Lincoln's speeches, but there had been something about her that he disliked. Instantly, they had been suspicious of one another, aware of each other's presence but unforgiving of it, a kind of curiously sinister courtship that lent more to snarls and warnings than trysts and kisses.

He had not seen her in twenty years, not since that fateful night when Lincoln had been assassinated; and that was the first and last time he had ever seen her beautiful face tear-stained, nor pale with shock. Coraline, the woman whose presence in France had begun the Revolution, whose family had managed to escape the lethal business of Madame Guillotine, had seen a bullet fly through the air at a short distance, and strike a mortal in the back of the head -- and had cried. It was curious to him, unfathomable, for Coraline had no conscience otherwise. She was a product of her spoiled, aristocratic upbringing and her heartlessness had inspired him on numerous occasions… but that had touched her profoundly, had touched everyone; lives had been transformed that day, as a nation reeled with shock and then slipped into profound mourning. No, he had not seen her since … but he knew she was in London. He could sense her, even caught her scent once or twice on his infrequent outings. He had known it was her even before encountering her brother, Lance. One of the ancient vampires, he was powerful and dangerous, and had liked Josef immediately, but their equal ambitions did not intermingle well, and Josef had sent him on his way, reassuring him that he had no plans to remain in London beyond the spring.

"See that you don't," Lance had told him, with a curious kind of uncertainty in his voice. He had lingered on the threshold for a moment and then vanished down the stairs, his presence of immense curiosity to the landlady, but Josef had ignored her inquisitive glance as he had shut the door. It was more than two weeks later and he had told her nothing, nor entertained anyone else. Staring at the darkening shadows creeping in as the tallow in the candle melted into a discontented puddle, Josef compelled movement from his limbs, rising and drawing on his cloak, before he put out the light. His eyes adjusted to the darkness and he had no difficulty in making his way down the narrow staircase and out the front door, aware that his landlady had fallen asleep before the fire with a bottle of brandy, as she often did in the early evening. The hour was moderately late and only individuals with nefarious intentions were afoot--tipsy lords returning from the tavern, working girls in search of a copper penny, and the occasional addict or wayward husband resenting the fact that they would soon have to return home and face the recriminating, accusing glares of their wives. He cared about none of them, and they failed to acknowledge him as he passed among them, encountering the odd man every few streets, but mostly finding nothing but darkness.

Her slender form was concealed in the mouth of an alley, for she had been waiting for him. Reddish brown hair gleamed around a pretty face set with a natural pout as his footsteps came nearer. She drew a shawl around her shoulders and held her breath until she saw it was him; then he heard the pounding of her heart subside just enough to reassure him that she was relieved at his presence, and her hoarse voice summoned him into the darkness. Mary was quite an accommodating little creature, and it was fortunate he had found her. She was a working girl with no experience, for it had been her first night on the street when Josef had discovered the pleasures of the lower district. He had sensed her about it immediately, her innocence, and her virtue. She had no alternative, she said, it was this or to be cast out on the street. She had been terrified of him, but willing to do anything he required -- but his needs were different from most men, far less degrading but equally as intrusive. She had been shocked the first time, and a little astounded the second, but now was accustomed to it, relieved, even, for he paid her well enough that she did not have to resort to the tactics of her friends to earn enough to keep her in reasonable standing.

When they asked her, she told them that she was the solitary companion of a single, demanding client, which was true in some respects, who would not allow her to see anyone else. They accepted it with understanding and envy, never noticing how she wore a slender black ribbon at her neck, to conceal the puncture marks that caressed her pale skin. Josef had learned many things in his two hundred years, mainly how to make it as least painful as possible, even pleasurable in some respect. Mary was waiting for him, slightly frustrated that he was late, for being alone in the alley frightened her. There was nervousness about her this evening, an increase of her pulse, a tightening of her fingers as she drew her shawl even tighter about her slender shoulders. "There is a bad omen tonight," she said, shuddering, for she was a superstitious sort.

Pulling him into the darkness and fumbling at her throat for the ribbon, Mary quieted as he untied it for her, feeling safe in his presence. That was an unusual thing; he had never experienced it before. Most humans, even those who delighted in being fed on, rarely felt entirely at ease in the presence of vampires. Josef had not intended to find her, or to make use of her, but had been drawn to her, much like he had been drawn to this eerie place, his motives uncertain and his instincts flaring. He felt no guilt in it, for he knew he was protecting her from far worse things, and rested his head against hers as they listened to the silence, broken only on occasion by the distant sounds of a passing hansom cab. Her face turned from his and she melted into his arms as he caressed her throat with his lips, careful as he sank his teeth into her. There was, as always, a slight intake of her breath before she relaxed, her heart beating against his chest, slowing beneath the hypnotic lull of his presence.

Blood: it was intense and meaningful, powerful and dangerous, addictive and something he could not resist as it passed over his tongue, a rich, sensual blood far too strong and poignant to come out of a mere girl such as this, an innocent girl of country bearings and a naive understanding of the world. "What are you?" she had asked him once, and he had smiled at her mysteriously. "Nothing," he had replied; "something you need not understand," and astoundingly, she had listened to him and never asked again, had never looked at him darkly, nor resented his role in her life, only been grateful for it, for somehow she knew he would never harm her. She was content in his arms, trusting, her form growing quite still as he pulled away from her, feeling warm because of her blood as it chased away the chill in his veins. With what strength remained, she whispered, "You are always so warm, after," and he answered, "Because you have given it to me, because you have shared it with me, a taste of the light."

"The light," she repeated tiredly, and smiled at him. Mary rested her head against his shoulder, growing sleepy with the hour and her loss of blood. Now was when he would walk her home, to the decrepit boarding house where she roomed with one of the other girls. Her friend would look at him curiously when he came into the lamplight, unaccustomed to such gentlemanly behavior as to not leave her in an alley somewhere. There were many questions, even dangerous ones, and yet he could not help wanting to watch over her, wanting to make certain nothing harmed her. But tonight was different. Tonight, something was wrong. He sensed it on the wind, an eerie kind of foreboding that made their footsteps echo all the more menacingly on the cobbles, and his senses to tense as he prepared for the unknown. His arm around Mary, he looked piercingly into the darkness and then lifted his nose, breathing in the night air.

It was there, faint whiff of something foul and odorous, a scent that caused him to shudder and draw the pale figure nearer to his side as he hastened their pace. Even in her lethargy, Mary sensed his urgency and did not drag her feet, blinking away the weariness as they traveled the labyrinth of allies that eventually led them to the ramshackle boarding house where she shared a room with another girl. The woman opened the door when she saw them coming and her slender frame was outlined in a shimmering thread of light that cast a sickly hue against the pavement, her hair wild about her shoulders and the strap of her gown loose against her bare shoulder. "Thought it was the man who was supposed to be tired at the end of it," she said with a leering smile, and Josef passed her without a glance, depositing Mary on the bed. His presence dwarfed the tiny room with its worn furniture and the meager fire flickering in the hearth.

He bent over her a moment and when he stood up several golden coins had been pressed into her fist. Mary smiled up at him and reached after him limply as he went, dropping back into the pillows with a sigh that indicated she would sleep tonight and be recovered by the morning, as she often was, for he never took more than he needed. Her companion followed him to the door and he paused on the threshold, a magnificent sight in his black attire, his golden head turned in the direction of that foul scent, wafting toward him with menace. Josef knew the taste of it well, for it meant a vampire much older than himself was abroad tonight. The woman came after him curiously and he turned into the room again, saying, "Both of you should stay in tonight."

"Is that so, mister?" she replied arrogantly, but her cockiness faded when she saw the anger that flashed through his eyes; there was a hint of whiteness to them that frightened her, and a flash of white teeth that she felt confident must have been the alcohol in her veins, for they looked almost fang-like in the shadows. "Do as I tell you," he snarled, and passed out into the night. She closed the door behind him and latched it with trembling fingers, turning to look at the pale figure asleep on the bed. Mary was none the worse for wear, but her companion would never have risked it, not with a man such as that. She could not be certain what it was, but there was something infinitely terrifying about him.


	2. Chapter 2

If there was one unique aspect of a vampire beyond their immortality, it was their scent, something others of their kind could sense even if humans could not. They were always aware of their surroundings and the numerous smells mortals could not comprehend: a thousand different odors on the wind, from the faint stench of rubbish to the unique, pungent scent of rats in the sewers. It was the stench of decay that grew about the oldest of their kind, for while their souls and bodies did not age, their physical forms did. That was why they sought cold places in which to rest, often darkened caverns and crypts beneath churches, some of them occasionally startling humans into believing that ghosts haunted the cemeteries. In winter it was not so difficult, for the cold infiltrated every room and narrow road, but in the summer months they went into hiding, avoiding the sunlight and lurking in the shadows. The oldest vampires smelled the most strongly; it was not a scent humans could distinguish or even sense, but other vampires knew it, and respected it, even feared it, for the older vampires were far more formidable than the younger ones. Youth in immortality came with strength but it was fleeting and inconsistent; with age came experience, and that made them all the more dangerous.

This particular vampire, the one whose presence was so profound that it had caused Josef to pause on the step of the boarding house, was very old, far older than he had before encountered; its scent was strong enough that it flickered down the darkened alleys and rippled across the cobblestones. Most of their kind would have avoided following it, but Josef was curious, his senses shrewd as he approached, somewhat relieved to find that while mortals could not sense the ancient one's presence, the cold and an eerie feeling of uncertainty had driven them indoors. He knew the other vampire felt him there as well, that gleaming eyes shifted in his direction as he discerned whether or not Josef was a threat. But then came something else, a flavor on the breeze that caused him to turn his head and discover her there, beneath the arches, her porcelain features revealed beneath the brim of a flirtatious little hat. "Coraline," he said; it was more a warning than an invitation, but she draw nearer. There was something exotic about her, enticing, sensual but in a distantly obscure fashion, for she was of royal blood and acted like it, a constant source of movement and sexuality that might drive a man mad for want of her-- and had driven many over the edge.

Her gloved hand came to rest on his arm and she looked up at him beneath long, dark lashes, her breathy voice coming to him in a kind of kittenish purr. "So you are in London," she soothed, making vapid assumptions that he had no desire to contradict. "I thought I saw you disembarking at the docks, but have not encountered you in society. Have you forsaken us, Josef?" Her white teeth gleamed beneath her painted lips and the twinkle that made her so desirable entered her dark eyes, like twin pools of blackness. One might happily drown in them if one was not cautious. Passing her hand over the contours of his cape, she moved around him and came to whisper at his shoulder, "Do you sense it too? It is something dark… something feverish… something _ancient_." There was bloodlust in her when she said it, an internal force so strong that it struck him as important somehow, a tensing of all her muscles and at the same time, a release of her inhibitions. Coraline was not the pampered socialite in that moment, but the huntress.

"Have you encountered it before?" he asked her, aware of her nearness and the intensity of her form.

Coraline often feigned ignorance when it suited her but on this occasion could not deny the knowledge in her tone, the awareness of her step, the reasons that brought her there. There was a shudder that passed through her almost of delight but also something else, some primal instinct she sought to repress, a fierce desire that was understandable given her pulsating emotions. Her eyes shining eerily in the gloom, she answered, "I _have_ sensed it before… in Paris, long ago. He is one of the ancient ones, perhaps the eldest of them all. There is so much to learn from him… shall we not seek it?"

That was one of her numerous failings, an eternal quest for the forbidden unknown. Coraline wanted to devour everything in her path, be it information or flesh, for her thirst could never be quenched. The idea of ancient wisdom excited her, granted her an immobile kind of certainty that made her courageous. She parted from him and moved down the side street ahead of him, Josef following after lingering hesitation, as curious as she was but far more cautious, for Coraline was still young. Cunning and bold, but innocent in her knowledge of the ways of the world; it was the reason her brother often lingered in the background, protective and aggressive to the point of domineering interference.

Her long skirts swept the cobbles beneath her feet, her poise remarkable, and enthrallment in each movement as she came to the mouth of the alley where the scent was strongest and paused. One of the veins in her throat was pulsing, her instincts on alert as she stared into the gloom, aroused by the scent of blood, faint but distinguishable from the other odors that colored the darkened alley. A shadow separated itself from the gloom and came toward them, a form slumping in its wake as the prostitute drifted to the ground, dazed and weak from the loss of blood. The figure was formidable in height and massive in form, menacing as he approached the slender figure awaiting him, licking blood from his fingertips and pausing to consider Coraline at length, from the tips of her shoes to the black tendrils of hair loosely pinned around her shapely features. She was not swift enough to avoid him when he sprang at her, not with any demonic passion but rather instinct, a reproach for having interrupted him. One instant she was frozen in place and the next she slammed into the wall behind them, long fingers at her throat, sharp and shrewd enough that he might have torn her head from her body without effort, but instead they remained fixed as he looked at her, breathed in her scent, his ominous eyes glittering in the moonlight. He felt Josef approach but did not turn to face him, stiffening as something sharp pressed against his ribcage.

"Release her," came Josef's command, no more than a murmur against the silence surrounding them, reminding his companion that he held a stake beneath his heart. The ancient one hesitated for an instant and then relinquished his hold. Coraline dropped to the ground, coughing violently, and the free hand now turned against his assailant, knocking the instrument out of the way and forcing him into the gray paving stones behind them. Josef did not go as easily as Coraline had and fell back, snarling deep in his throat a warning for the vampire to remain at a distance. He stood between them, between the formidable young man and the fallen Parisian angel, a dark stain against the iridescent sheen of the night. "You are one of Lola's," he said with understanding. "Her scent lingers on you. And you, my darling," and he turned fierce eyes to Coraline as she rose to her feet, "are Lance's most recent prize."

There was a kind of fascination in her face as she stared at him, marveling at the marble contours of his skin, so translucent and statue-like that no one might have looked at him in daylight without knowing he was a creature of the night. "You know Lance?" she inquired with a hint of respect, for her brother was formidable, and anyone who dared cross his sister must be equally so. There was no hint of danger about the stranger now, for he had compelled them to acknowledge his superiority, but Josef was still watchful as Coraline moved toward him, circling the stranger at a distance.

"When you are as old as I, you know them all," came the careless response; "their scents and also the scent of those they have sired." He was attractive in his own way, distant in his features and empirical in his impressive stance, the tone of his skin and the tenor of his voice indicating he was a foreigner, for there was a trace of an accent behind it. With a flourish of his cape, he bowed to them. "Count Oren, and this," and he motioned toward the shadows from which something stirred, "is Endrella, my pet." There was a fondness in his tone that accompanied the reaching out of his fingertips, curling welcomingly as a figure emerged from the mouth of the alley, her lips red with blood. None of them had noticed her, for her scent was so faint that it was overpowered by that of her protector. She could not have been more than fourteen, her appearance that of a pampered child but her body that of a small woman.

His companions looked at him with rising suspicion, for it was against the laws of their kind to create a dependent -- any creature who could not survive on its own in the world. The count must have understood their train of thought, for he smiled and said, "That unspoken creed was put into words long after her time, for she is nearly as old as I am, are you not, my sweet?" He tilted her chin upwards and the pretty little face smiled at him beneath a wreath of golden curls. Her features were very distinctive, but there was a hint of a resemblance, one Josef found remarkable as he studied them together. She was a light creature on her feet, her movements swift and her instincts cunning, for while she seemed at ease in her father's presence, he knew that she watched them both with rapt awareness. Strangely, there was no decay about her, as if she were a newly opened rosebud rather than a thrice century old vampire.

"Have you a place of residence in London?" inquired Coraline, for she was aware that the lavishness of their garments did not fit the sordid surroundings. The young woman looked at her keenly through a pair of intelligent brown eyes and replied, "Yes, at the Grand."

"My brother and I have a small house in the upper end. I am certain it would give Lance pleasure to dine with you, if you would care to frequent our lodgings tomorrow evening." Coraline had gone from the intimidated victim to the gracious hostess without difficulty, and their companions considered at length before the count replied, "Perhaps." It was not a yes or a no; or any indication of his feelings toward them, only a single word that resonated in the air and made them aware that the only sound was the faint moaning of the woman in the street as she came around. Coraline stepped toward her in an instinctive, predatory shift and in that instant, their companions vanished into the darkness, fading away with such swiftness that their departure went unnoticed, only the faint mist rising from the cold cobblestones shifting around the solitary figures left behind.

"Remarkable," she said when she was aware that they were alone once more, and Josef did not respond as he came forward to investigate the prostitute sprawled out in the alley. The touch of his hand tilted her head to one side, revealing the set of teeth marks in her throat, as well as her wrist, where young Endrella had drunk her fill. For some reason, their presence had brought more repulsion than fascination to him, but it was clear that Coraline was otherwise inclined, seduced with the promise of untold wisdom, if she might prompt it out of them. The child had seen more of the world than she had, her innocence lost long ago, replaced with an uncommon sense of tranquility that was sinister in its implications. Disinterested in the woman beyond her usefulness, Coraline tapped Josef on the shoulder and he saw that she was holding out a slender, white, printed card. "You may come too," she told him.

He took it from her and discovered it was printed with her address, but before he could respond she too had gone, the air stirring in her wake with the scent of rosebuds that she used to mask her scent.


	3. Chapter 3

Sensing the prostitute would not come out of her stupor for some hours yet, he left her there and returned to his flat, finding the housekeeper exactly where she had been on his departure, an empty brandy bottle in one hand and the hearth cold at her feet. She did not stir as he ascended the stairs to his room, nor was there a sound in the old boardinghouse as he removed his cloak and jacket and lit a candle. It showed his reflection in the looking glass, a handsome face rather innocent in its appearance, but that could transform into a snarl if threatened. He stared at it a moment, wondering if this was truly how others saw him, and then placed the card on the table.

For all their numerous merits, Josef did not like Coraline or Lance, for their aristocratic snobbery made them presumptuous and difficult, but he was intrigued enough to wonder if their ghostly companions would come in from the darkness, and thus he chose to go. The housekeeper was surprised to see him leave at an earlier hour than usual, but said nothing as he stepped into the hansom and pulled off down the street. From the winding, narrow alleys became wider streets and finally charming houses across from the central square. The cab drew up before one of them, with the letters 93 painted on an ornate balustrade over the massive oak doors, and he alighted on a narrow step. The hansom continued on its way as he pressed the bell and waited, the street lamps casting flickering shadows into the coming twilight. Mist was arising from the river, creeping in around them in iridescent ripples that shifted at his knees as the door opened and Coraline admitted him into the house. Diamonds gleamed at her ears and about her slender throat, where the marks from her near-decapitation were no longer visible.

Candlelight bathed over the impressive inner hallway and flowed into the parlor, a comfortable space cluttered with Victorian trinkets and books, in a style that was altogether too flowery for his taste, but Josef did not complain as she handed him a crystal goblet full of some liquid that might have passed for champagne. Vampires could drink anything they desired but often chose not to, and it did not take him a taste to discern that the contents was blood, a shimmering, rare type of blood that was valuable in its delicate taste of flower petals. "The blood of aristocrats is always richer than that of peasants," she hinted, and he smiled at her knowingly.

"And so much easier to harvest, too," he remarked. It was true, for the aristocracy was less suspicious than the common people, more inclined to trust the benefits of a bulging purse and charming tongue. Coraline did well in London society, for she was fashionable and mysterious, her brother evasive and sinister. Josef would have done magnificently if he had tried, or had a desire to seek the approval of the masses. He had always been cautious in maintaining anonymity as much as possible, for his enemies were as frequent and profound as his friends.

Though they did not need the warmth, a fire flickered in the fireplace, an illusion for the human housekeeper, a suspicious old woman who knew better than to make inquiries about her employers. The stairs creaked and Lance entered into their presence, a tall, dark-haired figure made sinister by his blindness in one eye, a looming orb of darkness that made the unique color of the other all the more penetrating. "Ah, Josef," he said, and his guest turned to him with one of his customary grimaces. "How fares your business ventures, or have your assets dried up with the damnible repercussions of the war? Do you know, it has impacted even European society? Everyone is interested in investments, but the South is such a bloody mess that there is no hope for it."

"There is hope enough with patience, and as you know, I have infinite patience." Josef smiled faintly over the rim of his glass, considering the plantation where he had been comfortable for so many years. It had suffered through the war and still stood as a testament to his investments, though he had not darkened its corridors in many years, for the locals might have grown suspicious. Lance's good eye considered him at length and then twitched, as he moved away from his guest in the weak light. The clock ticked distantly on the mantle, reminding them of the lateness of the hour, and all ears listened for the approach of a coach on the street. None of them were certain that their illustrious visitors would come, but all were eager to see if such an arranged interval would transpire.

Although aware of the beautiful image she made standing against the glowing hearth, Coraline eventually took up residence on the divan as her brother went to the window, brushing aside the filmy lace curtains and gazing out into the intensifying fog. "Coraline visited a medium the other evening," he remarked, and all eyes turned to him with expectation. His blind eye was cast into the shadows and that half of his face all but vanished in the gloom, a sinister twitch of the lip following the release of the drapery against the glass. He came toward them and poured another drink from the glass decanter. "Tell Josef what the woman said. It was magnificent, the most wonderful, senseless posturing I have ever encountered, a testament to the lunacy of this city's upper classes, who are so naïve they will believe anything if it is accompanied with a breathy tone and glassy eyes."

"She told me I would meet a tall, dark, and handsome man who would rule my heart," was his sister's triumphant response, for she was as pleased by it as her brother was. Her mouth turned in amusement and her delicate chin lifted, accompanying the movement of lingering curls against her bare shoulder.

With his customary sadism, Josef answered, "But she could not foresee her own demise, I presume." He had encountered many such individuals in the past, of notorious reputations and extreme cunning, with their fingers caught up in wires beneath moving tables and ghostly contortions reflected on their countenances whenever anyone doubted their abilities. None he had ever met had comprehended what he was, had thought of him as anything beyond an ordinary gentleman, and that was what gave them away. They had not even the common sense to be frightened, gleefully playing at the occult without discerning the very forces they sought stood in the very room with them, voices beyond the grave.

Coraline gave a delighted laugh like a silver bell ringing in a churchyard, its peals baring traces of maliciousness. "Of course not," she answered, and it was very comfortable in the room just then, with the fire crackling and her memories cast back to the astonishment on the woman's face. The pert red lips parted slightly in reminiscence and she bit down on them with just enough pressure to recall the taste that had passed over them. "But what nonsense… can you ever imagine I so in love with a man that it would rule out all reason? You know my nature. I will never love anyone... not in that way, at least."

It was true, for Coraline cared nothing for those who happened to stumble into her path and were cast aside from it again, and in that respect they were alike. Realizing he was looking at her, she smiled at him across the top of her glass. "You may find yourself remembering that one day," he remarked.

"No, I am not a romantic as you are, Josef. I am a cynic, with nothing to lose but my heart. And that, I assure you, will never leave my constant presence. No one will ever run away with it, though I will encourage them to try, with all due diligence."

"There you have it," her brother said from across the room, "magnificent ruthlessness in all its glory. Have you ever seen such a creature?" But there was a hint of respect and admiration in his tone that indicated he valued her sincerity, even in its most brutal form. Josef found them fascinating to watch, so alike and yet so different, distinctive in their unique abilities and fondness for one another. Coraline was impertinent and often judgmental of her brother, who was ruthless beyond reasoning. Once, Josef had watched him dismember another vampire in a state of rage that had left crimson stains the length of a particularly polished marble terrace. Lance had finished and left without a backward glance, aware of the shock and horror of his companions.

It was momentary, the scent that came to them a moment before there was an authoritative rap on the door, and the housekeeper passed muttering under her breath about her age and temperament, and how she was far too old to answer the bell. Coraline arose in a rustle of crinoline and her brother's stance intensified as voices came to them in the corridor, followed shortly by the arrival of Endrella, shrugging off her ermine cloak and surveying them with interest. Her eye fell on Lance, who noticeably stiffened with her arrival, and a sinister smile tugged at her mouth. "Why Lance," she purred, "you have not changed at all since I saw you last."

His nose wrinkled momentarily as if he was about to snarl at her, but then her father appeared in the doorway and she was forgotten, as there were reintroductions and a flutter of conversation that meant nothing to anyone. While Lance and Coraline spoke with the count, Endrella wandered to the fire and considered the figure that remained unmoving in the chair before it. "You did not rise when we came in," she remarked, and he shifted his attention to her, finding her quite the remarkable illusion, a youthful appearance younger than his own but with eyes so old that he could sense their weariness of life. "Most would have, either out of intimidation or a determination to impress. You did neither."

"I never have been particularly fond of formalities," he answered wryly. "I don't posture, I don't pander, and I certainly have no interest in impressing anyone with any meager form of … _bravado_." He accentuated the final word in such a way that it made her eyes gleam with interest as she sank into the chair opposite from him, like a porcelain doll dressed in satin.

"You don't have to impress us, do you, Josef?" she answered, and was pleased that he was surprised she knew his name. "Josef Ryder, the infamous, established benefactor of certain of London's most profitable businesses, a silent partner and observer in all, rarely seen in public and even less frequently abroad. Tell me, why is it that a man capable of purchasing Buckingham Palace thrice over would put up in a small set of rooms in Whitechapel."

A hint of a smile came to his face, but the tone behind his response was lightly threatening. "You have been checking up on me."

"It would be foolishness not to," Endrella replied, tilting her head childishly to gaze at him. She was forever ensnared in her youthful form, never to mature past a certain point, never to reach beyond the budding fascination she had experienced toward men before she had been turned. At fourteen she would have been just into petticoats and attending finishing school, would have giggled behind gloved fingers at the attentions of gentlemen at social functions but not yet experienced the taste of romance. Josef felt sorry for her, for everything she would never experience, for every emotion she would never embrace. It had been cruel to turn her at such an age, to leave her in such a slender, immature form, dependant on her father, immature in body if not in mind, for she was sharp and shrewd beneath her deceptive perceptions. They studied one another at length. "Do you find the company of Whitechapel favorable?"

"No more so than London society. Indeed, they are more honest in the lower quarters as to their professions. The whores admit what they are, as they never do in society. You must favor the strong blood there, or you would not have sought to taste it. Do not aristocrats suit you?"

"As conversationalists, perhaps, but not as dinner companions, I fear." A childish giggle accompanied it, as if she found amusement in her clever play of words, and Josef could not help liking her. He could not say the same for her father, a fierce, formidable man of ancient beginnings and impeccable tastes but an equally unimpressive and often patronizing nature. He was complimentary on the surroundings but condescending in all else and when the hour was beyond midnight and he had taken his daughter out into the night once more, Lance dropped into a chair and moaned, "Let us never see them again. I have the most infernal headache and it won't go away again until I have dined on a priest."

"Lance, don't be sacrilegious," his sister mustered from her corner.

"What about us is not sacrilegious, Coraline?" responded Josef, his head tilted back as he stared at the unique ceiling panels that fanned out above them, set with an intricate Victorian design. Lance ignored them as he pulled his cloak from the rack and, casting it about his shoulders, went out into the looming fog. Coraline sat in silence with Josef for a time and then moved nearer, the tone of her skin revealing that she had not eaten. Each movement was graceful, her poise immaculate as she extended her hand to him. Josef took it and drew her into the chair beside him, an intimate motion that would have suited lovers more than casual acquaintances, but vampires were naturally instinctive, aware of one another's desires and complimentary toward them whenever possible. With a sigh, she dropped her head against the back of the chair and stared into the firelight.

"Do you think I will ever be as old as Endrella?" she asked with a note of despondency in her voice.

"Unless you infuriate one of your many lovers enough to remove your head, yes," he answered.

This brought a smile to her face and she looked at him with amusement dancing in her eyes. "It is true, men often pursue my favors, but you have never done so. Why is that, Josef?" Her hand rested against his chest, her fingers playful as they tugged lightly at his cravat, her scent that of rose petals.

"Because you are too rich for my blood; I like my women more variable, and less dangerous. You are like poison, Coraline… a sickeningly sweet brand of arsenic to every man foolish enough to fall into your arms. If you do ever meet that handsome stranger, introduce me to him, so I can warn him about you. However… you do have your appeal, but you already knew that." Josef dislodged her from his side as he rose to his feet, the hour approaching dawn. He was weary of this house and its suspicious caretaker. Now and again he heard her light footstep in the corridor and sensed her peering through the keyhole, curious to discern what prevented his departure. He felt her crouching there now and swiftly strode across the room, throwing the doors open and causing the older woman to fall back with a gasp.

"My, my, my," he said, "your servants certainly are attentive!" He turned on his hostess as her blushing housekeeper went to fetch his cloak and approached to take her hands. "And now I kiss your fingertips in the appropriate, chaste farewell of an indifferent male caller, and vanish into the night." He nipped one of her fingers and drew a bead of blood, causing her to draw in her breath at the playful insult, but she only smiled as he went out into the night, an unspoken threat of repayment lingering in the air between them. It was bracingly cold, or would have been to any other man, but he was unaware of it as he paced through the shifting fog, eerie beneath the gleaming street lamps. Now and again a solitary hansom cab would pass, and once he encountered a policeman, who tipped his hat and seemed surprised to find a sober gentleman out at such an hour.

His footsteps slowed as he made his way down the narrow street toward the flat that awaited him at home, but it was a different scent than normal that caused him to pause. It was a sickening scent, like a rotting corpse drenched in blood, reminiscent of a disemboweled dog he had once discovered on a country road. The taste of it was in his mouth as he turned and followed, hesitantly, aware of the echoing silence of the surrounding buildings and the solitary nature of the fog, which blanketed his footsteps. It swirled around his ankles as he came across a prone form in the street. Blood was seeping into the cobbles beneath his feet but still he stood, struck with repulsed fascination at the sight before him, a woman with her throat so severely cut that it was nearly severed from her form. There was so much blood about her body that he could not see at a glance how much of her internal organs were missing, only that the blood spatter crept up the alley walls on either side, the work of a butcher or a madman.

Distantly, he heard running footsteps and followed, able to catch only infrequent glimpses of a feeling form, just the ripple of a cloak or the scent of blood that would appear and then fade, before horses at a waiting hansom cab were whipped up and thundered away into the gloom. Josef could not follow and paused, watching as the coach lurched away, leaning precariously to one side as it rounded the corner. Then there was nothing but yawning emptiness, the sinister residue of a horrific crime, and one that turned his stomach, for while he had seen and even participated in many dark events in recent history and beyond, not once had it been by human hands and not those of a vampire. But he could smell nothing on her, nor in this place, that insinuated this barbarism was anything less than mortal. And that, he found, was more profoundly disturbing by far.


	4. Chapter 4

Morning came and the light feebly penetrated the floating dust of his room, the windows so filthy that more than fragments of golden tone were not allowed in. Once, the housekeeper had complained of this and stretched out her arm to swipe at it with a cloth, but Josef had gripped her wrist with sudden strength and said, "Leave it, I say." She had taken her hand back again with a startled frown and not attempted to clean them again, watching him suspiciously as he came and went at odd hours. Rather than provoke her lingering curiosity, Josef often left during the daylight hours and crossed the narrow street into the chapel in the lower district. There, beneath the climbing vines and broken headstones, was a door into the caverns beneath, where it was dark and cool and he slept the daylight hours until the sound of the solitary evening bell awakened him. Only once had he been interrupted by the minister, who had not seen him in the darkness, and gone on about his way without comment, holding a lantern aloft and muttering about a draft. Josef detested the crypts but it was the coolest resting place he could find, and so he repressed his instinctive reactions and tolerated it.

On this particular day, the tenant of the small flat was more interested in the goings on of the neighborhood than the comfort of an uninterrupted sleep, for there had been two police wagons rush past in the early hours before the dawn, followed by a number of constables and finally an inspector, a most grim fellow by appearance with a somber mustache that he stroked as he considered the scene. There was a small crowd of onlookers gathered at the corner streets, craning their heads to see beyond the police barricade to the gruesome remains of the prostitute, who was now covered with a sheet. Men spoke in hushed, disturbed tones of things they would not desire the common public to know, and no one took notice of the cloaked form that stood in a distant doorway, watching, his features a mask of concentration. Josef was far from commonplace but had the gift of appearing ordinary and drew no attention to himself, or his interest in the proceedings. He remained immobile until a childish form came toward him and a gloved hand touched his arm, turning his attention downward as he discovered Endrella beside him.

"Mortals are so fascinated with the concept of death, are they not?" she asked him. "They are preoccupied with the threat of it, intrigued by the most gruesome details, but if they knew what it was truly like, it would terrify them far more than it does now." She wore a quaint hat perched over her tousled curls and looked quite the little woman as she lingered in the shadow of the doorway, her collar buttoned to her throat and intelligence in her remarkable, ancient eyes. It was unusual for her to be out alone, but there was no accompanying scent that warned him her father was also in residence. "Poor thing," she continued, without much empathy. "She came out for a farthing and got more than she bargained for… that is what they are saying. Can you hear them?"

"Yes," he answered, his curiosity aroused with her interest. It had been a patronizing thing to ask him, but she had done it without consideration or ill intent, for there was a level of indifferent rudeness to most of her comments. It was a novelty for them to stand there, surrounded by mortals and have no one suspect what they were, something she took great pleasure in, for there was a bounce to her step and a shine to her curls, her excitement visible but also reflecting the lust in her veins for blood, for even at this distance it was pungent and heavy, staining the air with a taste that neither of them could resist. Every vampire in London would smell it on the wind, faint but distinguishable, creating in them a yearning that was instinctive, and would lure many to these narrow streets before the night was out, like sharks surrounding wreckage in a stormy sea.

The inspector was full of theories and mysterious suppositions, his policemen repulsed by the sight that had awaited them, discovered by some poor fool on his way home after a night of drinking. No one thought much of murder in these parts, for there was a body a week, if not more, not to mention the disappearances. People frequently vanished in Whitechapel, the result of careless vampires who never left survivors to reveal their identities or were just too eager in their bloodlust. Murder was not their style, and nor were the bodies of their victims ever found. But this was an unusual case, a gruesome event, a malicious crime beyond anyone's comprehension. The woman had been strangled and then had her throat cut, her lower body mangled beyond recognition and several of her organs removed. It was a heinous act that would cause women in society to faint, and men to blanch at the breakfast table. Even vampires would not look too kindly on it, for whenever there was violence of a notorious nature, they were forced to become even more cautious, more vigilant. It would be perilous to draw any attention to their existence.

Perceiving that one of the policemen was approaching with the intention of speaking to them, Josef nudged his companion with his arm and said, "You had better return home." He could not abandon his perch without it appearing suspicious and thus was forced to remain in place as the young woman left him, vanishing into the crowd. The constable ascended the steps, touched the brim of his hard black hat, and said, "Begging your pardon, sir, but the inspector wishes to speak with you." He indicated the way with a sweep of his hand and, fighting back his resentment, the vampire obliged. The crowd parted around them as he approached the mustached figure standing just inside the barricade, more than one female pair of eyes lingering on him with curiosity, wondering if he had anything to do with this nefarious deed. A good many of those gathered were prostitutes, and one or two of them knew him by sight. Their eyes wide, they hurried home lest he point them out to the constable.

"You, sir," said the inspector as Josef joined him on the cobblestones, his gaze flickering to the mortician's wagon as the corpse was carefully loaded into it. "Several individuals have indicated to me that you are often abroad at night in these streets. Did you hear or see anyone last night?" He acted as if it was not an accusation, but Josef sensed that his suspicions were aroused.

This was not particularly fortunate, for Josef had no desire to become the prime suspect in a murder investigation, but centuries had taught him how to contend with such matters and he remained stoic as he answered, "No, indeed not. I spent last night and a good many early hours of the morning with my acquaintances here in London, in particular, with a young woman of some social distinction. I did not return to my lodgings before dawn… you may ask my housekeeper." He maintained an air of confidence and a hint of an appropriate seriousness that placated the man's suspicions, and wondered which of the fine individuals in the crowd had encouraged the constable to speak with him. He dared not look, but sensed an open hostility from someone in residence, a tangible scent of maliciousness on the air, or a desire to cast suspicion elsewhere.

Narrowing his eyes, the inspector stared him down obstinately, the sheet slipping just enough on the corpse for one bloodied hand to come into view of the crowd, which gasped and started whispering. "Cover her up, you damned fools!" he barked, and turned back to his companion, who made a striking figure in his ominous black suit. "What is the name of this young woman?" he asked.

Producing the same card Coraline had presented to him two evenings before, Josef left it in the hand of the inspector, who allowed him to leave once he had given his place of residence. "I would not wander too far, sir," he said meaningfully. "You may be needed as a witness."

"Or a suspect," the vampire muttered under his breath, and left that place gratefully. He knew it was not likely that Coraline would be awake at this hour of the morning, but nevertheless returned to the small house just off the central square and pulled the bell. There was a long pause before the housekeeper came to answer it, startled to find him on their doorstep. "You can't come in, sir," she called after him as he entered and ascended the main staircase. "My mistress is not up yet!" Lifting her skirts in one plump hand, she followed him protesting every step of the way. There was no need to inquire which door belonged to the lady of the house, for her scent was so powerful behind it that Josef threw it open and entered absolute darkness. Heavy draperies covered the four central windows that faced full west, and the fire had been put out, leaving the room with a distinct chill.

Something moved beneath the heap of pillows in the giant four poster bed, and then the housekeeper was on his heels, flapping her tongue like an angry chicken. Without a word, Josef took her forcefully by the arm and threw her out into the corridor, slamming the door in her face. He could see clearly in the darkness, and the bed was vacant. Turning his eyes into the corners of the room, he stepped back as a shaft of sunlight hit him full in the face, for Coraline had seized one of the draperies and pulled it open. "That is for coming in here like a madman," she said as he stumbled out of it into the gloom, a formidable marble statue in her filmy nightgown. It had startled him but an instant and he came toward her across the room, his cape fluttering behind him as she unlatched one of the windows and opened it to the breeze. Coraline was beautiful even when interrupted from a deep sleep, her skin flawless, and her dark hair loose about her shoulders. "If Lance were here, he would tear you into a thousand pieces," she said, tilting her chin as she looked at him. "I cannot make up my mind whether or not that would please me."

Resting her hands against the windowsill, she sighed deeply and looked at him once more, her dark eyes stormy. "Well?" she demanded. "What do you want?" She moved around him into the room, a vision of white against the retreating shadows, her movements so poised that she might have been a dancer about to step onto a stage. He watched her with interest; he could not help himself, for she fascinated him. Maintaining a calm sense of composure, he responded, "Last night there was a murder in Whitechapel. The police have been called. It's a particularly violent, gruesome business, and someone pointed me out to them. I had no alternative but to inform them of my whereabouts last evening. I would imagine you will have a constable on your front step by the end of the afternoon."

"You didn't," she protested, sinking onto the end of the bed and pouting with frustration, for it would do her no better than him to be watched by the police. Lance would be particularly infuriated by it, but fortunately he had left early that morning for Paris, and would not return for a fortnight. The last thing he had said to her was to be wary of her friendships, for he was not particularly fond of the vampires that had crossed their threshold the evening before. The silence of the house surrounded them, her form melting into the luxurious coverlet as she leaned out against it, a posture more fitting for a courtesan than a lady, an art she had been well practiced in at the French court.

"I told them I was here nearly until dawn. Make it sound convincing, won't you? Lying is, after all, one of your many talents." Josef turned his eyes to the street, watching as hansom cabs and carriages passed beneath them, the occupants no doubt indifferent to the murder that had transpired in the early hours. There was a murmur that might have been agreement from the bed, and an errant lifting of one hand in a graceful indication that she would concede. "Will your housekeeper be agreeable?" he inquired, for she was the one individual who might insist otherwise. It had been a quarter past three when he had set out from the house, and she had seen him on his way with an unpleasant countenance, for she had immediately disliked him. He always had a desire to scare people who disliked him, as a means of putting them in their place, but had resisted on principle.

Raising herself up on one arm, Coraline answered, "She will do whatever I tell her. She's a dear old thing, really; easily enough convinced if you use an authoritative tone." There was a hint of fang as she smiled deviously, for it pleased her to show a hint of maliciousness to the help. "But that does not solve the problem of you having brought me into this, Josef. I resent that."

"Not nearly as much as I resent it," he answered, for it would mean he was in her debt, and Coraline had a reputation for making good her debts. He could just imagine the uses she could get out of it, from social introductions to financial assistance whenever Lance cut her allowance, which he often did out of annoyance or sheer spite. Coraline resented that he had control over her financial status and had been seeking a means out of it for some time. Their minds must have been similarly engaged at that moment, for when he glanced across at her, she was staring at him with renewed interest. Perhaps this would not be so inconvenient on her behalf after all, she was surmising, for he knew that look in her eyes. It usually preceded a particularly glamorous form of persuasion.

"Josef," she said meaningfully, and he inwardly flinched; her voice was soft and intimate, lingering in the air between them like a soft whisper. "Why don't you accompany me to the Opera tomorrow night, and we will consider our debts settled?"

It would have to be the Opera. Josef liked many things, but the Opera was not one of them. He had gone once since his return to London for appearances sake only and then hoped to avoid it if at all possible for the rest of the season, since the infernal singing made his skin crawl. It reminded him of a league of angry alley cats in heat. Coraline knew this, and he suspected that was why she had chosen it, her own unique brand of torture – going would be almost as bad as accompanying her, listening to her purr into his ear all evening with her cunning little insinuations and insults. His eyes narrowed. "Why?" he asked, knowing there was more to it than met the eye. Coraline had no end of suitors that might have escorted her to such an event, but for some reason his presence was significant to her.

"There is someone there I would like to impress, and you, however undistinguished at this particular moment, will more than impress him. You will be civil and courteous and interested in me, and if you pull any of your customary nonsense before the end of the evening, I will see to it that Mrs. Hutton, my interminable housekeeper downstairs, tells the police whatever they want to hear. Is that understood?" She smiled brilliantly at him and he felt like shaking her, but instead he gave her a resentful curl of the lips that indicated he was well aware of her emotional blackmail and answered, "The Opera it is. All infernal top hats and dress coats and caterwauling for four glorious hours of personal hell. I will remember this moment, if I survive through Intermission."

Leaving her cackling in his wake, Josef descended the staircase and encountered the angry housekeeper at the foot. "There are appropriate manners and inappropriate behavior, Mr. Ryder," she told him as he brushed past her, "and that was inappropriate behavior! You should be ashamed of yourselves!" She followed on his heels as he peered out the front walk and abruptly turned down the corridor to the kitchens, intending to escape through the side door as the constable approached the front. Ignoring her threats, insults, and veiled implications, Josef reached for the doorknob just as the front bell jangled noisily. The woman stopped on his heels and he turned to her, forcing a pleasant expression. "You should answer it," he said with glee, and as she glared at him and spun on her foot to tramp back down the darkened corridor to the front, he pulled a face at the back of her head and vanished into the garden. The overpowering scent of roses assailed him as he crept to the side of the house, watching until the constable had stepped indoors to pass out onto the street.


	5. Chapter 5

He knew the policeman would spend the better part of a quarter of an hour pacing about the parlor waiting while Coraline made herself presentable, and then meet with a charming, flirtatious, beautiful woman who would coyly imply that yes, Josef Ryder had been there nearly all night; the time had quite gotten away from them. She would blush and laugh and speak highly of him, sending the constable on his way with numerous compliments and a dazed look in his eye. He would forget for half a day that he had a wife and children at home, and lavish in the bliss of her favor until reality would come crashing down around him. Hopefully, by that time he would have forgotten most of what she said apart from that Josef had been with her all night, and she preferred it if her name was kept out of the papers. That was why Josef had given her as an alibi, not because he had not alternative, but since he had known that she was a consummate actress capable of rescuing him from the deepest mire. That the Opera was the price she demanded for it was unfortunate, but not something he lamented beyond a few hours of misery in comparison to weeks of inquiries.

Returning to the boarding house where he was currently in residence, Josef was surprised when his landlady sailed out of her rooms with a reproving look and said, "There's a woman waiting upstairs for you, and I don't mind saying, sir, that I won't let her sort in again!" The disapproval in her tone intimated it was an unsavory character and he knew who it was before turning the key in the lock. Mary rose from a chair as he entered, her features pale in the weakening light, dressed as modestly as she could have been given her impoverished situation. It was the first time he had seen her in daylight and he was struck with how angular her features were, how haunted her eyes, set in a face that had seen no kindness but his in many years. She was older than he had first imagined, near his own age if he had been human, perhaps a few years older, and the sorrow of her former situation hung about her heavily. "You didn't summon me last night," she said tremulously as the door closed behind him, her voice no more than a whisper.

It was clear that she had rehearsed what she intended to say, but looking at him, all words failed her, for this too was the first instance in which she comprehended him without the luxury of shadows, and she was stricken with how beautiful he was, how confident and unassuming, even predatory as he removed his cloak and threw it onto the nearest divan. Josef sank into a chair and looked up at her, his silence more profound than any response he might have uttered. Trembling beneath the courageous façade she put forth, Mary came to kneel at his feet and tentatively reached out her gloved hand, resting it on his arm. "Sir," she said softly, "the girls and I are all frightened over what… what happened to Polly Nichols. They told me the police questioned you, and I told them you would never… that you couldn't…" She looked up at him beneath long lashes, her eyes openly questioning.

"And you came here to ask me?" he responded, surprised with her foolishness. "What if I _had_ been capable of it? How can you be certain I am not?" He _was_ capable of murder. He _had _committed murder in the past, without remorse, without hesitance, without the luxury of morals. But Mary did not know that. Did not know that it had been murder that had set a mob after him in the north country, their torches glowing in the darkness, pitchforks in hand, shouting "Nosferatu!" as he fled. All Mary knew was that he wanted what was in her veins where other men would have wanted what was between her legs; that he was compassionate in the taking of it, considerate in his presence, careful not to harm her, even on occasion making it pleasurable for her. He had shown her the most kindness she had experienced since she had fallen into the streets, her former life gone, her ambitions demolished. She dreaded when he would leave her again, and she would be forced to join the others in their nightly pursuits.

"You are far too kind to do such a cruel thing." Her hand tightened on his and he was uncomfortable with it, with the earnestness of her stare and the warmth of her presence. Josef had not eaten since their previous encounter and only now that she stood so near to him realized how ravenous he was. Her slender throat appealed to him, shining in the fading light, and he could not remove his gaze from it. Delicate fingers undid the button that held her glove closed and pulled it from her hand, lifting her wrist to him. He took it deftly, feeling the fear pass through her when his eyes melted into milky transparency, his fangs emerging as he opened his mouth and plunged them into her wrist. Mary drew in her breath and shuddered, but did not pull away from him as he drank, coming closer so that she might rest her head against his as he finished. He licked the wound when he was done and it closed again, his features returning to normal as he looked up at her.

"Tessa told me you told us to stay indoors the other night," she whispered. "Did you know something would happen in the darkness?"

"I can often sense things, but I did not know _that_ would happen." He still held her wrist and she did not remove it from his grasp, kneeling before him so that he could look down into her eyes, magnificent eyes shadowed with unhappiness. He instinctively reached out and brushed the hair away from them, the unusual caress causing her to pull away from him as she rose to her feet, tugging on her stained glove, for she knew she could not linger much longer without his landlady coming to investigate. Josef moved to reach for his pocket book and she shook her head. "No," she said softly, "no, not this time," and left him, her quiet footsteps fading down the corridor. He arose to approach the window and watch her retreat, he head slightly bent beneath the brim of her hat and her footsteps rapid as she returned home ignoring the glances of anyone she met on the street.

The floorboards creaked and he sensed the presence of his landlady. With some indignation, she said, "I do not run a brothel, Mr. Ryder."

"Nor would I come to one if you did," he responded under his breath, and turned to look at her. "I assure you nothing untoward happened, Mrs. Prescott."

"I am sure." Her disbelief was evident.

Josef was starting to become irritated, for he had just about had enough of the constant suppositions of the individuals surrounding him as to his reputation, much less his merit. Crossing the room and placing one hand on the door, intending to shut it, he looked directly down into her plump, cross face and said, "If I were inclined to have a woman, Mrs. Prescott, do you not believe I might do better than that slovenly creature?"

"I…" Her mouth opened and closed without prompting speech, and her face turned four different shades of scarlet before she hoarsely answered, "I… yes, I imagine so."

With a narrow look of agreement, there was a swish of the door as it swung shut on her, the breeze ruffling her skirts and leaving her standing on the landing, feeling a fool.


	6. Chapter 6

London society was never more unnerved than when unsavory things were happening in her lower quarters, and the murder splashed across the front page of all the respectable newspapers was the common course of conversation at the Opera. It was spoken of in hushed whispers behind lifted gloved hands and fluttering fans. The women were appropriately scandalized and the men morbidly intrigued. Josef had not ventured from his flat since the previous afternoon and was not surprised to find Coraline waiting for him when the cab pulled up outside her house in the flickering twilight. "I trust your conversation with the constable was profitable," he said as he assisted her into the coach, all green satin and shimmering emeralds.

"Not a bit of it," she retaliated with her customary charm and a gracious smile. "He observed you in the street as you were leaving. I managed to convince him that he might have been mistaken as to the time, but that he saw you would not be shaken from his mind." She pressed her skirts over his knees lest her gown be wrinkled and settled against the smooth interior with expectation, resting two slender hands in front of her.

"Damn the man's eyes," snarled Josef, and rapped on the roof with his walking stick. The cab shot forward with a lurch that soon transformed into a pleasant rumble, carrying them down the street toward their destination. Gaslight flickered beyond the windows, the mood over the city one of uncertainty that did not lapse as they approached the frivolity of society. Hordes of people were passing into the Opera house when they descended in front of it, and winding her arm through is, Coraline warned him to be mindful of his manners as they joined the throng. Josef was polite and indifferent, a suitable companion without much interest in his surroundings, but more than once he saw a woman that suited his taste and lingered long enough that she would turn and look back at him, smiling coyly over her bare shoulder as she accompanied her companions to their seats.

Coraline had access to a private box that boasted a magnificent view over the stage. The crowd was settling beneath them and the orchestra warming up their instruments, Josef watching in expectation for her other guest. "Well," he said as the curtains were lowered and the Opera was preparing to begin, "where is this mysterious individual you desired to impress with my presence?"

"He would never come before Intermission," was the impertinent response, and her fan fluttered with nervous aggravation as she assumed her seat. Josef settled beside her and tried to ignore the swelling of the music as the curtain arose to thunderous applause. The Opera was just as patronizing and ill-conceived as he had suspected it would be, and it was not long before boredom overcame him. Rolling his eyes at his companion's enraptured, breathless anticipation, he allowed his attention to linger on one of the background performers, her brown ringlets trembling with every note. She was no more than a waif, excessively thin and remarkably beautiful, far more so than the diva storming about in front of her. Her blood might have been Creole, for there was a natural grace about her that reminded him of France.

Sensing the nature of his interest, Coraline leaned toward him, her scent flourishing beneath rose petals and the perfume that garnished her perfect curls. "She is rather your kind, isn't she, Josef?" she inquired, prompting him to look at her warningly. But she only laughed and fluttered her fan, shifting away from him in order to watch the curtain fall. Deciding he had no interest in remaining during Intermission, Josef arose and left her there, weaving through the people that flooded out of their boxes and went downstairs at an unhurried pace to partake of refreshments. Champagne flowed freely and more than one individual stopped him, for they recognized him from former social events. Some of them were humans, others of a more immortal nature, but all were polite and interested in his presence, curious when Coraline appeared and wrapped her arm around his protectively, in a deliberately intimate gesture.

"The Count is here tonight," she told him beneath her breath as the announcement was made that all were to return to their seats. They followed the crowd up the stairs into the corridor and Josef drew ahead of her slightly to open the door of their box. He did not know why this information disconcerted him, but it did as he allowed her to precede him into the small, gloomy area overlooking the stage.

He surveyed the emptiness of the box and answered, "Your illustrious guest has still not arrived, I see."

"He will come," she said irritably, and flicked her fan at him. Amusement in his eyes, he watched as the curtains were drawn up and the Opera began once again. The Creole girl danced as deftly as ever, her angelic voice carrying to the furthest reaches of the opera house. While the diva bellowed impossibly high notes at the top of her lungs and strode about the stage, Josef's attention wandered once more, this time to the boxes opposite. He lifted the opera glasses that he had brought with him and studied their fellow observers, intrigued with the range of expressions they wore. Most were enraptured or at least interested, a few openly bored as they stared bleakly down at the stage. One or two gentlemen kept checking their pocket watches, and the occupants of one box seemed far more interested in kissing beneath the folded drapery than listening to the music.

With a knowing smile, he lowered the lens and turned as the door to their box opened, admitting a formidable figure that brought him to his feet at once. The Duke was quite young and beautiful, like an ivory statue, his eyes the color of cinnamon and his voice tinged with the upper crust aristocracy that Coraline admired. Blood was flowing thickly through his veins, tinted with hues of blue, for he was a favored cousin to the Queen, and his mannerisms were polite and almost shy, for he was startled to find more than just Coraline in attendance. The men observed one another suspiciously for an instant before she lifted one gloved hand to him and said, "Robert, how pleasant of you to accept my invitation. I fear you have missed most of the Opera, but will you not come and sit with me?"

She indicated the chair Josef had vacated with a flirtatious expression and the Duke approached, emboldened with her attention. But it was apparent that his interest was in her companion, for he looked at Josef with an expression that was not altogether pleasant. "This is one of my dearest friends," Coraline said by way of explanation, her voice soft against the thunderous applause that followed the high notes. "Josef Ryder. He learned of your interest in making his acquaintance and came out tonight despite an appalling distaste for the Opera."

"Any friend of yours," said the duke, extending his hand. Josef found his grip firm and confident, some of the distrust fading from the man's eyes and turning to interest, for he was indeed fascinated with the notorious Josef Ryder, a powerful force in society but something of an enigma, for he rarely appeared in it, preferring his own company and that of an intimate circle of friends. He was far more interested in his companion than the Opera, and they spent a pleasant hour conversing in low voices against the magnificence of the rising score, ignoring the thunderous applause at the conclusion of each passionate number, as the musical wound its way to an eventual, tragic conclusion. Josef found that he liked the man much more than he would have cared to admit, and knew that Coraline was pleased.

When at last the curtain dropped and the audience was on its feet to applaud, Josef stirred, muttered, "Thank God," and rose to his feet. He looked forward to the prospect of the darkness, of returning home and sleeping long into the morning hours, but his companions had other ideas, for the duke turned to him and invited him for a brandy at the club. The dowdy atmosphere full of cigar smoke and masculine conversation only rarely appealed to him, but tonight he was feeling adventurous and agreed. Assisting Coraline with her ermine cloak, he agreed to meet the duke in a quarter hour, once he had taken his companion home, and watched as the lean form moved away into the crowd.

"Bit rich even for your blood, isn't he, Coraline?" he asked as she accompanied him, along with the rest of the throng, down the stairs toward the open doors. Glancing over her shoulder and unable to make the young man out among the numerous faces that followed them, she shook her head.

"Never," she answered.

He could not help but admire her determination. Something brushed against his arm and he looked down to find Endrella, her father several steps behind. "Magnificent performance wasn't it?" she inquired with ulterior meaning, and smiled. There was a trace of scarlet on her teeth that indicated she had come for more than entertainment. Count Oren joined them as they passed through the enormous doorway into the darkness, the sharpness of the air surrounding them as the crowd parted, moving in a wave to the row of waiting carriages. There was a glint of gaslight on stoic black forms and Josef groaned as he saw a line of constables waiting for them on the sidelines, watching the crowd with interest and no doubt searching for him. One instant he was beside Coraline and the next he was gone, vanishing into the night. She turned her face away from the penetrating gaze of the policemen and walked nearer to the count, granting the illusion that she accompanied him. "Josef must be cautious of them," Endrella said as they parted ways in the street. "Whenever anything nefarious happens, the police become suspicious."

There was no response, but Coraline was a bit paler than usual when she stepped into the carriage, startled to find Josef already there, hidden in the shadows. The cab pulled away from the opera house without being stopped and he relaxed once they were a little ways from the turnstile. "Their interest in you disconcerts me," she confessed.

"No more so than I, for as you well know, vampires do not do well behind iron bars. Let me out a street away from the club and I will walk the rest of the way." Josef remained silent as the cobbles passed beneath them, his instincts on alert when the coach finally slowed and let him out. Coraline caught his hand as he parted and whispered, "Be careful tonight," before withdrawing into the coach. It departed, leaving him standing alone on the street, and he was cautious in his approach, not surprised to find no policemen in residence, for they would not look for him here. He was well known enough at the door for them to let him in, leaving his cloak and walking stick with the girl behind the counter. It was not difficult to find the duke in the billiard room, and they shared an evening of pleasant conversation and games before talking business, the smoke of the open gallery wafting over them.

Tapping a cigarette against a silver case, the duke said, "This damned nonsense in Whitechapel has everyone on edge. What do you make of it, a random act of violence or something more sinister? The newspapers are already calling the murderer a 'butcher.'"

"Newspapers are fond of such titles, although I must admit that the details are rather grotesque."

Their topic of conversation was not unique, for it seemed to be the general consensus of the room, as snatches of dialogue came to him from every quarter. "… a madman, surely…" "Well, when you consort with that kind, there's no use pretending there isn't a danger…" "They say she was gutted like a deer…" "Hope the police find him, whoever he may be…" "Haven't been down there since, with a lunatic running about…" "May God help them all…"

His eyes faintly golden in the low lamplight, Josef watched the figures that passed and enjoyed the silence of his companion, for the duke did not know what else to say. He smoked his cigarette and sat with his half-empty glass of brandy in one hand. Had it not been for this, Josef might have been too preoccupied to sense what he did. It was just a hint of something, no more than a passing flutter, an indication that caused him to tense as he sought it out. He could not discern where it came from, only that for the barest perceptible instant he had caught a familiar scent, the same one that had accompanied running footsteps away from the woman's body. Lifting his eyes to the numerous men in the room, he scrutinized all but recognized none of them.

But he knew that somewhere in their midst was a murderer.


	7. Chapter 7

It would have been foolish to return to his flat and so Josef did not, going instead to the little house along the square. The housekeeper let him in with a scowl and he found Coraline perched at the top of the stairs, wearing a dressing gown that billowed out about her, long hair loose down her back and her magnificent eyes shimmering in the faint light. "I knew you would come here," she said needlessly, her posture indicating she had waited for him for several hours. The housekeeper left muttering about how immoral such nightly visits were, and they ignored her, studying one another in the flickering shadows. Rising and descending to accompany him into the parlor, she observed as he poured a glass from the decanter in the far corner and then offered, "You were gone a long time."

"I went for a walk to clear my thoughts. For a moment, at the club I thought…" He turned to her and paused, for she had never been a woman in which he might confide. Coraline sensed his reluctance and came further into the room, the slenderness of her form evident in the firelight. "I sensed something… the same presence I encountered in the street that night, when I discovered her body. It was not a vampire, Coraline… that is what has me so perplexed by it. I can understand the need to kill, even the gruesome act of dismemberment if it serves a purpose, but that was nothing more than barbarism, of such an unfathomable nature that it astounds even I. Humans are not like that… most of them have some sense of right and wrong, however misguided. But that… it would have turned even your brother's stomach."

She was quiet as she poked at the fire, so dangerous to vampires yet so enticing. The poker in her hand prodded the burning logs and they settled into the grate, sending up a shower of flickering sparks. "We cannot always comprehend what humans may do," she said softly. "Their actions are never without motive, as ours are never without consciousness thought." Biting her lip, she refused to look at him.

Josef loosened his cravat and rested one arm on the mantle, staring down at her, such an unmistakable beauty in the faint light, so enticing and dangerous. And yet there was something unmistakably young about her in that instant, vulnerable and frightened. "What is it you want with the duke?" he inquired after a time, and she looked at him, her eyes deeply mysterious as they shifted away again. "I know you well enough to suspect you do not seek him as a lover, or even as a source of amusement. There must be some other reason that you hide beneath pretty smiles and grand flirtations."

"Perhaps I am searching for a soul mate, as the medium said."

Lifting her chin with one hand, Josef gazed into her porcelain features. "When you find a soul mate, it will not be a simpering duke," he answered. "Tell me the real reason." His hand dropped as her expression fell, a hint of resentment behind her eyes before she replaced the fire iron.

"I want to be out of my brother's shadow," she said, "and to do that, I must find a patron of my own. I thought it might have been you at one time, but no, we were incompatible from the beginning. This duke may be persuaded to help me. Lance is… not impossible, but very demanding. I thought it would be easier in Europe but even when he is not here, I can sense his presence, his oppression, his constant surveillance, his preoccupation with me. I am his sister, his only sister. Most of our family is dead and of course I understand why he desires to protect me, but I just want to be something, Josef. I want to _have _something that is my own. I want to find someone to spend all of eternity with."

Silence surrounded them, interrupted only by the ticking of the clock and the distant churning of carriage wheels on the lonely street. Josef surveyed her for a long moment, for the first time experiencing compassion for her plight. Coraline had always been a spoiled aristocrat in his view, one that enticed as well as irritated him, but there was something equally winning about her. For all her professions of liberty and an astounding lack of decency, Coraline was in her soul excessively Victorian. She wanted nothing more than a lifelong lover, a husband, for she was an incurable romantic. She must have sensed his train of thought, for she blushed and began to turn away from him, but not before he caught her arm, his eyes burning into her own.

"I will help you," he said. It was an offering she could never have asked for, nor that he would have given anyone else, but once Josef adopted someone it was for eternity. Coraline was maddening to anyone who was in love with her, but he wasn't, for he knew she was nothing more than a flame, a flickering fragment of light that would burn on into the darkness, incinerating the moths that came to flutter against its beautiful hue. She was of no danger to him as long as he remained indifferent to her, and the gratitude that looked out through her eyes was profound.

The lateness of the hour was apparent and it would soon be morning. "The police may be watching the house for you, when they discern you have not returned home," she said. "You may stay here, but be careful when you come and go. It would not do to have them discover your presence." She did not say it, but he knew what she meant; it would not do to have anyone discern their secret. Individuals who observed vampires were often harmed, for it was simple to see too much. To catch a glimpse of white eyes in the darkness, or the turn of a sharp fang, even the swiftness with which they moved, or the strength in their arms. That the police were fascinated in his potential involvement was perilous to all of them, something that would not be stood for within the vampire ranks.

"Something will be done about it," he promised, and this must have satisfied her, for she soon went to bed, leaving him the guest room, cold and dark beneath the thickly pulled draperies. It was far more luxurious and comfortable than the boarding house and he did not stir in the hours that followed, not even as light began to creep in around the corners of the curtains, the gloom shifting around him, increased by the rain out of doors. The sleep of a vampire is deep and undisturbed, absolutely silent and unmoving, for no heart beats beneath their chest, nor breath passes through their lungs. Josef was no different from any of his kind, motionless and immobile in sleep, yet keenly aware of the room around him, of the faint footstep on the threshold, of the heartbeat that increased as someone crept toward him. Every muscle in his body tensed but he did not open his eyes, only his fingers slightly firming against the coverlet beneath him, for he slept on top of it, having no need for its warmth. His skin, if she had touched it, would have felt like ice, but she did not touch it; the housekeeper stood over him, looking down at him with a mixture of fear and hatred.

She lifted the hand bearing the wooden stake and drove it down with the intention of piercing his heart, but he sprang at her, teeth bared and eyes burning, snarling as he knocked her from her feet. Astonished terror was in her eyes an instant before they were shut forever, a snap accompanying her form as it went limp and dropped to his feet, the wooden stake rolling beneath the bed as it fell from her fingertips. There was no sound from the rest of the house, nothing to indicate Coraline had heard him, and he made his way cautiously down the open passage, pushing open the door to her room. It was so dark that mortal eyes could not have seen into it, but he saw her, stretched out across the bed, unmoving, a vision of magnificence in a semblance of death just as she had been glorious in life.

Through her heart was a wooden stake. Without hesitation, he crossed to the bed and pulled it out. The agonizing cries stifled through her paralyzed limbs burst forth as she came up from the bloody coverlet, a trickle of blood at the corner of her white lips. She pressed her hand to the open wound across her chest, moaning as he crossed to the decanter on the far side of the room and found it empty, the contents thrown away by the repulsed housekeeper. Coraline would recover, but not without blood. Moving with ruthless determination, Josef went out the back door and through the side gate. There was no constable outside the house, but he knew not to trust that one was not nearby. He crossed the mouth of the nearest alley and then hesitated, turning within as he saw someone rummaging through the muck. It was a lean boy of twelve or so, clearly from the streets. He did not run as the vampire approached, but tensed in preparation for a fight.

"How would you care to earn twenty pounds?" Josef demanded.

The urchin stared at him with mouth agape. "What would I have to do for it?"

"Come with me, and ask no questions."

Suspicion flashed across the boy's countenance, but the prospect of such wealth was too much for him to resist and he agreed, saying nothing as Josef covered his eyes and led him quite a distance in order to confuse his senses, and prevent him from sensing where they were. Coraline was where he had left her, having silenced her cries but not her weakness, for she looked up at them through trembling lashes as they entered, relieved to see he had not abandoned her. Shoving the boy to his knees, Josef asked him to hold out his hand. He did so, crying out as Coraline sank her teeth into his wrist, but Josef gripped him by the shoulder and said, "It will not hurt long." And it didn't, for in that mythical way she had about her, Coraline eased his suffering and brought him into a trance almost like a dreamless sleep, his form relaxing as her wounds healed. She took just enough but not too much, and the boy was unconscious when she finished.

"If you hadn't been here last night…" she said, looking at him with immense relief. He knew the terror in her eyes, for he too had experienced flashes of it, when he had been young and uncertain of his abilities. All of them were strong but also vulnerable and the merest mistake, the one instance in which they blinked, might have been their downfall. He had no desire to think of might have happened if the woman had succeeded, if she had turned her mistress over to the police or informed the newspapers. Their society was built upon the notion of secrecy, of no one ever knowing the truth; even if they sensed it, or feared it, or caught sight of a glimmer of fangs in the darkness, no one would ever believe in them, for they were mythology, legend, things written about in penny novels for children to fear. Vampires were not real. They were monsters from the darkest fathoming of the human mind, blood drinkers, obscure stories that parents smiled knowingly over, never realizing that they encountered these creatures numerous times in their daily lives, for their occupations were vast, their features timeless. They never remained too long in one place, but continued to shift and move, ever aware that their recognition would be their undoing.

Drawing her to her feet, Josef was relieved to see that she was unharmed, however injured her dignity, the desperation and bloodlust having faded from her eyes. "What must be done with the boy?" she asked.

"Take him away from here, before he wakes. Leave him in an alley a fair distance from this place, with this in his pocket. He may remember something of it, but not all, and no one will believe him. He is, after all, an urchin. It is too light to take her body out now, but I will send for someone to attend to it. We will open the curtains and act as if nothing has transpired. You will go to France, or at least profess your intentions to do so, and have sent your housekeeper ahead of you. It would be wise for you to go abroad until this matter is ended."

He saw the argument in her eyes before it came to her lips, a protest that she could not leave London just then, that she would lose forever her opportunity with the duke; but his warning glance silenced her. This was far more serious than her ambition of financial independence. Coraline pursed her lips in that pretty way she had of pouting but did not quarrel with him. He left her to dress and wrote a brief note on a card. It was easy enough to summon one of the messenger boys that were always lurking about the square and he told the lad to deliver it to a Madame Rosamund at a particular address. The boy took off at a run with a farthing in his pocket and Josef returned indoors as Coraline came down the stairs, supporting the urchin without much effort, for her strength had returned. Josef turned as there was an impatient knock on the door. Through the sunlight glinting against the frosted glass he could make out the singular form of a constable. "Damn," he growled, and sprang through the nearest doorway.

Coraline dumped the young man into one of the bedrooms with a loud thump and then hurried down the stairs, her fingertips reaching the polished doorknob and drawing it open without hesitation. "Sorry to call at this hour, Miss," said the constable, turning to her with a most serious expression, "but we were wondering if you had seen Mr. Ryder in the last few hours. He's not returned home, and the Inspector wishes to speak with him."

Before she could part her ruby lips and offer a convincing deception, her skin radiant from the benefits of having fed, and the urchin upstairs stirring discernibly, her vampire companion emerged from the parlor, removing his hat and walking stick from their place just inside the doorway. The constable was shocked by his appearance, no less so his companion, for she stared at him with concern as he took up her hand and kissed it. "I will speak with you later," he said meaningfully, and she nodded slightly, just enough to convince him that she knew what to expect in response to his summons. Accompanying the policeman down to the waiting coach, Josef was grateful for the moodiness of the day, of impending rain and gloom crowding the lower streets, for he would have appeared quite ill in the sunlight otherwise. It had been an instinctive, protective motion that had prompted this sacrifice, one he hoped he would not regret as they traversed the narrow streets to Scotland Yard.

Vampires in captivity were dangerous, even more so because they were not offered alternative sources of nourishment, but were often forced to reveal their true nature behind bars. He was disconcerted but not overly worried, knowing that they had nothing but suspicion in which to put against him, and his air was confident as he mounted the steps outside the Yard and entered with the constable. Narrow corridors fed into winding stairs and open offices, with file clerks running in all directions and various individuals of unsavory appearances awaiting their escort to the holding cells. There was a distinguishable scent of anger and fear, intimidation and cowardice, cunning and intelligence, but above it all was a stronger scent, one he found almost comforting: the scent of another vampire. His eyes turned toward the source and found a woman behind a desk watching him, her eyes murky beneath the soft brown curls that formed over her brow. It was unusual for her to be there, for women in those times were rarely among the working class, but the pen and slender pad of paper indicated that she was a journalist, a writer, ink staining her fingertips.

Escorting him into a massive office stacked underneath unfathomable amounts of paperwork, the constable introduced him to the hump behind the desk and it straightened up to reveal the Inspector. He looked at Josef for a moment and then motioned for him to close the door. The constable did so as he retreated, shutting them out of the noise and confusion of the outer rooms, although Josef could still see what was transpiring beyond the glass windows. "You are a difficult man to find, Mr. Ryder," said the Inspector as he shuffled through various pages in search of something. "I called at your flat and found no one but your less-than-amiable landlady. Tell me, why does a man of your position in society occupy such low-rent accommodations?"

"I prefer solitude, as most men of business sense do." Josef ran his hand along the nearest stack of documentation, finding that it contained a mountain of newspaper clippings surrounding the murder. The tabloids had dubbed the killer "the Ripper." It seemed more than fitting considering his crime, and Josef was curious enough to lift one of the scraps of paper to look at it. The Inspector took no notice, rummaging around in his desk with open aggravation.

"And yet you were seen at the Opera last night. Is not society the opposite of solitude?"

"Not in a private box, with a charming companion," returned the vampire, replacing the tasteless article and assuming the nearest chair without having been invited. There was an aura of confidence about him that threw the inspector off, for he found it peculiar that his companion would show no sense of concern at having been summoned so urgently. "But you did not invite me here to question my taste in music, did you, Inspector?"

"No, I did not." Finding whatever it was he had been looking for, the Inspector sat on the edge of his desk and studied his companion at length through narrowed gray eyes. "I know your type well, sir," he said. "You are the foundation of society but also abhor its constraints, so you find some pleasure in 'slumming' among the lower classes. You give up nothing of your refinement but manage excitement in being surrounded by those considerably less fortunate than yourself. I am not a fool. I can see that you have no ambition toward murder, but I do think you were afoot that night. One of my constables saw you, and the murder transpired at no great distance from your current place of residence, in the early hours of the morning. You must have seen or heard something, surely."

They studied one another, one curious and the other suspicious, for Josef sensed that to make such an admission might further endanger himself, but to deny it would only arouse greater pursuit. He rubbed his thumb over the molded head of his walking stick, contemplating the room and its occupant with intensity that sharpened along with his senses. It was a gamble, and if there was anything Josef loved, it was a gamble. "I saw nothing," he said. "I heard footsteps in the fog, and the sound of a hansom cab pulling away into the darkness, but that was all." He could not tell the man the rest, that he had sensed a mortal, a human, a man fleeing into the night, with blood on his hands and swiftness to his feet that indicated he had been disturbed. His butchery was done, but his purpose was not yet complete.

The Inspector studied him through narrowed eyes, and then asked, "What hour was this?"

"I do not know. Near to four, I should think."

Behind them, voices mingled with the sounds of Scotland Yard at its busiest hour. The journalist was still standing in the distance, watching him discreetly through the glass. Something about her looked familiar to him, as if he had encountered her before. After what seemed an interminable silence, the inspector threw something at him. It arced through the air and fell into Josef's outstretched hand, unfurling his fingers to find a plain silver cufflink. There was no beauty to it, no marking of any kind, a simple, unadorned item that held no significance beyond the fact that it was stained with blood. "That's one thing the papers did not report on," said the inspector. "We found that inside her. The madman must have dropped it." He lowered his gaze deliberately to the long sleeve protruding from beneath Josef's cuffs, and made it intentionally known that he had taken notice of the diamond cufflinks.

"Rather an inexpensive commodity," answered Josef, and threw it back to him. It was unusual that it would be shown to him, either as bait or a taunt, but it caused him to remember something, a faint pinging sound as the man had fled from him into the mist. He wondered then if they had discovered whatever it was, but allowed no emotion to cross his face, nothing to eradicate his total calm. The inspector looked at him a moment and then nodded his head abruptly, indicating the door.

"You will remain in London, Mr. Ryder, will you not?" he inquired as his companion retreated, and they shared a lingering glance before the vampire crossed into the passage.


	8. Chapter 8

That he was above suspicion relieved him but did not exonerate him, and Josef was in an unusual frame of mind as he passed down the corridor, not surprised when the journalist fell into step with him. "Josef," she said knowingly, "why does it not surprise me that you would be of interest to them? Have you been camping out among the opium addicts and whores again?"

She turned into his path and Josef looked at her for a long instant, a flicker of recognition passing through him. "Henrietta," he said as memories passed over them, of a single moment of romance more than a century before. She smiled brilliantly at him and chewed on the end of her pencil, her dark curls trembling at her brow as she asked, "What did the old crone want with you?"

"Information, I would think, but then, you were always the writer. Use your imagination." He stepped around her and was four paces down the hall when she called after him, "Would you care to know what the coroner told me?"

Fascination appeared in his eyes and he indicated she should walk with him, ignoring the activity that surrounded them. "How would you know something of that?"

"He's one of my oldest and dearest friends. He also has unlimited information at his fingertips. He told me you were there, and that you were questioned. Perhaps you can answer some questions for me."

"Why, just to satisfy your own curiosity?"

"No, so I can rub out that damned annoying journalist at the _Times_. I came up with the name _Ripper._ That was my idea, and he stole it from me. It would be lovely to help the police solve it, and rub his face in a front page article with all the intimate, gruesome details."

"When last I saw you, you were writing penny dreadful novels."

"One can only do that for twenty or so years before people begin to suspect." Henrietta rested her hand on his arm and drew him up. They were now several paces outside the police station, and it had begun to rain, the moisture seeping through their garments and misting over the cobbles at their feet. It was cold, but neither of them was aware of it. "You saw something that night. Tell me what it was."

"What did the coroner tell you?" he countered, and she pouted at having to reveal her hand first. People were moving around them but they remained fixed in place, ignoring the approach of the hansom cab hoping for a fare. With a bemused expression, Josef hailed it and accompanied her inside. The street passed aimlessly beneath them as she studied their surroundings, and then said, "He said it was the most notorious act of barbarism he had ever seen, outside the Crusades. The humans don't understand it; think it the work of a madman, but it wasn't. There was truth in every stroke. It was not an act of revenge or sadism, but a deliberate action formed of calculating indifference. She was not chosen at random, Josef. There was a reason for her death, but why her? Why some common whore? No one would have noticed if he had strangled or drowned her and thrown her into the Thames. He wanted there to be attention called to it. He wanted it to be in the newspapers. But why?"

They studied one another gravely in the gloom, the constant sound of the horses' hooves forming an unusual silence. "To warn someone else," Josef surmised with time, for it was a tactic he knew well. It was simple enough to murder someone, but not to force them into silence. To kill someone meant it ended rapidly, but tormenting someone was far more nefarious, far more deadly. "Maybe it was not violence against the woman herself, but against her profession. Maybe it was a warning that she is not the first to die, and nor will she be the last."

He could see that this notion made sense to her, for her eyes colored faintly with thought and caused Henrietta to look away from him. Nothing had changed in their hundred years apart, but there was no uneasiness between them. He told her then what he knew, what he had seen, what he suspected, and left her standing on a far corner to contemplate her new knowledge, returning to the streets where the murder had been committed. Morbid curiosity had faded with the change in the weather and kept most indoors who did not have a purpose there, but he cared nothing for the chill as he walked the lonely alleys, attempting to remember where he had heard the sound in the fog. It was several streets from where the woman had been found, and not by chance that he found it, the rest of the silver cufflink glittering in the shadows. It was such a small ornament that no one would have found it without deliberately searching for it, but his fingers closed around it and discovered that this one was marked with an insignia.

Pocketing it after some consideration, he returned to the dim, foul little room and his curious landlady, who said nothing as he ascended the stairs. Josef waited for something, anything, to happen but it did not. For a week, nothing transpired that was out of the ordinary. He maintained distance from Coraline, suspecting she had gone abroad as he had warned her, and spent several evenings in the company of the duke, who found him a tolerable conversationalist and was interested in his opinion on modern markets.

It was at the club, in fact, that Josef remained the night a second woman was killed, much in the same manner of the first, with unquestioning brutality and equal loathing. This time he was not a suspect, for a half dozen individuals had seen him there, but that did not quell his distaste nor his loathing for what had transpired, and it was to a much altered Whitechapel that he went home to, a pervasive sense of fear flooding the streets and keeping most in as soon as night fell. Gaslight flickered and where once the shadows would have stirred with slender figures, all was silent and dark, no one about but the vampires, who had nothing to fear. He saw them in those days, many times. The mirthful little giggle of Endrella as she darted away from him into the darkness, the burly form of her father, others that he did not know by name but that were drawn to the sinister atmosphere.

It was difficult to find sources of blood in those days, but somehow all of them managed. Mary was too intimidated to come to him and so on occasion he went to her, not to feed but to watch her, through the narrow window in the room she shared with her companion. There was a perceptible fear on her face as she drew the curtain shut and gathered her shawl closer around her, and of hunger. That was the most profound thing he sensed, a deep hunger among the working girls, for they were not courageous enough to venture out of doors after dark, and the ones that did often came to bad ends. More than once, Mary found a few coins slipped beneath her door and always knew who left them, finding him a silent guardian that brought her peace of mind.

There were two forces that haunted Whitechapel in those dark nights, the police and vampires. Some of them were curious; others determined to end it, before it aroused so much suspicion that eyes turned to them. But it was Josef who encountered the man a second time, his hands drenched in the blood of the prostitute limp beside him, her throat cut so deeply that it was nearly severed. It was merely by chance, and by the scent of blood, so penetrating and pungent that Josef caught its scent three streets away and turned down the nearest alley. The fog was shifting around him, casting eerie shadows beneath the flickering gaslight, his footsteps silent as he approached, repulsion and curiosity halting him as he caught sight of something horrific, of a man kneeling over the body of a woman, a gleaming silver instrument in his hand. The man worked swiftly and neatly, his butchery nearly complete when he sensed a presence behind him.

His head turned and caught sight of the figure in the shadows, an almost animalistic snarl rising in his throat as he perceived that he had an audience. Fingers tightening around the instrument, he came at Josef, little realizing that he was at a disadvantage. But alarm and even a trace of fear budded in his eyes as the vampire came toward him rather than running away, his eyes frosting over until they appeared almost ghostly in the darkness. Josef opened his mouth and snarled and for the first time, the Ripper halted, his hideous features contorting beneath the wide rim of his hat, pulled low to disguise his features. Josef went at him and the instrument lifted, penetrating soft flesh where a heart should have been, but no longer pulsed. Josef caught him soundly and sent him crashing across the alley, tripping over the body and bloodying up his garments further as the man scrambled away from him.

"M-monster," he stammered, terrified.

"Oh, really," the vampire snarled, with teeth bared, indicating what remained of the prostitute on the ground between them. "I could never aspire to this. This was… _magnificent_." It would have been easy to kill him in that instant, to snap his neck, but that was far too compassionate for such a creature. He instead stalked him, allowing the man to run when he snatched up his valise, no doubt containing the poor girl's insides, and ran off into the fog, his footsteps eerily echoing around them. He was breathing heavily as he ran, his heart pounding so loudly that it was like a beacon in the night, and Josef had no difficulty following him. There was something animalistic in his motions, in the anger that was coursing through him, an indignant kind of rage that he did not know he possessed. Humans were nothing to him, mere playthings, and their lives as fragile as the slender glass ornaments that Coraline collected. But this was beyond his forgiveness or understanding, barbarism that was unforgivable.

The footsteps halted but the beating heart did not. Josef could not sense exactly where the man was in the fog, but knew he was close, for he had his scent now, that of a seemingly respectable man of some influence, whose skills with a blade indicated he knew something of physiology. "The newspapers call you the Ripper," he continued as he walked through the shifting gloom. "I wonder what they would call me, if they were to find your body. They never will. You will vanish into nothingness, as if you never existed, once a prized member of London society and now no more than a whisper. What do you deserve, Doctor--the same treatment as your female patients, perhaps?"

He could now make him out against the curvature of stone that formed the archway, and Josef fell silent as he approached, so swift and quiet that the man never knew what struck him, only that his valise fell from his hands and bounced away across the cobblestones as the back of his head slammed into the wall behind him. He cried out in pain and the motion dislodged his hat, which drifted away into the fog, revealing a face that was faintly familiar to him, that one of the individuals at the club. "So it was you I sensed there," he said, and the man cringed away from his gleaming teeth. "Tell me, Doctor, what prompted you to pay such careful attention to the women of Whitechapel?"

Remaining silent, the man only flinched as Josef pressed the point of his own surgical instrument between his ribs. "I am no man of medicine," he confessed, "but it does seem that if I were to push in just there, it would cause you great agony but not rupture any internal organs. Is this not true, Doctor?" His fingers entwined in the man's hair and he slammed his head against the wall again, prompting a curse from between Ripper's lips. But nothing else came forth, even when Josef drew blood, so overwhelmed with its scent that he was unaware of the footsteps approaching behind him. The only awareness he knew was the upward motion of a stake driven through his chest from behind, the agonizing pain that coursed through him as his muscles tensed and he collapsed onto the cobbles, unable to move as the Ripper sagged against the wall and said, "Thank God, you have come."

Josef could not even move his eyes over to look into the face of the second figure who picked up the valise and hissed hoarsely, "Come on, you have already risked our lives!" and then hastened into the darkness. Ripper stood over him for only a moment, time enough to deliver a swift kick, and then ran off into the fog, it closing around him like a curtain, isolating the stunned vampire there in the street. It was only hours until the dawn, and if he were found, all of it would come out: the truth about him, and their kind, a secret they had striven to keep for centuries. He was immobilized, in overwhelming agony but unable to scream or even to cry out, his eyes slowly returning to their normal, pale shade of brown. It was torture laying there waiting for something to happen, for someone to find him, dreading the inevitable and knowing he was powerless to stop it.

But then light footsteps approached and even before her beautiful face came into his line of vision, Josef knew it was not an enemy. Endrella's small hands closed around the stake and pulled it out of his back, allowing him to roll over as he cried out in agony. It vanished into her skirts as she assisted him in sitting up, the pain so fierce that he could hardly concentrate. Her arm around his shoulders, sisterly in her affections, she looked up at her father as he emerged from the night and said grimly, "I think it is time he knew."


	9. Chapter 9

Flickering candlelight surrounded them in the small, dark room above the street. Its windows were so dirty that one could not see through them into the alley over which they peered, the contents of the space only that of a dusty cot and a few items of furniture. It was abandoned, unfit even for a vampire to dwell in, but had been the nearest place of sanctuary for them to seek, their footprints clearly evident in the dirt that coated the warped floorboards. Endrella had brought him a flask from an inner pocket and he found blood in it, enough to return some of the color to his eyes and begin to heal the painful wound that gaped open in his chest. Her father stood at a distance, concealed in the shadows, a massive form draped in a heavy black cloak, his features impassive as he considered their meager surroundings.

They had brought him there supported between them and he had not spoken at all until now, the feeble light pervading his senses and bringing him awareness as the pain in his chest slowly subsided. The arrogant carelessness he had known so well in their previous encounters was gone, their faces grave as they regarded him from their respective corners, both of them keeping their distance. "Something tells me your visit to London coinciding with the Ripper's murderous assaults is not a coincidence," Josef said when he had regained enough strength to speak coherently, and saw that they glanced at one another, cautiously, as if to inquire without speaking of their mutual intentions.

"No," confessed the count after a significant pause, and came forward into the light, his footsteps creaking against the weathered boards underfoot. He looked as if he were about to speak, but his daughter interrupted his thoughts with a confession: "He is my fault, entirely."

All eyes shifted to her in the dim little room and for an instant, the feeble presence was forgotten, the shifting fog beyond the filthy windows no more than a memory. There was such a look of earnest sorrow in her slender, childish features that Josef narrowed his eyes, attempting to discern her motives. Endrella stood in her perfect gown, with her porcelain features and enormous doll-like eyes, and seemed for all the world an innocent, but the misfortune in her tone was apparent. Knowing he anticipated more from her, she said, "He was one of mine abroad, some years ago. I came across him in Rome when we made that our home for a time, a meager physician without a passion for life, intrigued by his work but not devoted to it, lingering on the edge of eternal boredom. He was prepared to throw himself into the river, was but two steps from it, and I pulled him back. He wanted to die, and I was willing to let him… I even assumed he was dead, and left him there. But he wasn't. I did not know that he had survived until some years later, when frequenting a gala in Paris, I saw him there. You know what it is like, Josef. That every individual you taste leaves a resonance that you remember until the end of time. His taste came into my mouth the instant I saw him a second time; it was unmistakable, but he had changed. No longer was he uncaring and unassuming, but had a passion, a driving force for life that I could not fathom. Falling so near death, and then being pulled away from it, has driven him to madness."

Turning his gaze to the count, Josef found him distant in his thoughts, his features composed without emotion as he listened to his daughter speak in her quiet, melodious voice, so beautiful that it might have calmed the most savage of beasts. "At first, I thought nothing of it," she said, "but I did smell something on him, a darkness… blood that was not his own. Though it stained none of his garments or his face, I could sense it there on his hands. Not the innocent blood of a surgeon, for that is what he had become, but the blood of victims, of poor unknown creatures that had met their end at his brutality. I told my father, and we sought him out, but it soon became apparent that we could not silence him, for he had already spoken of me, had told many others about me. Some of them believed him, others did not, and so we have followed him across Europe these past fifteen years, watching and waiting, attempting to discern his friends from his enemies."

"If it were prudent that we cause his disappearance," said the count, sensing their companion's train of thought, "we would have done so, but it is far too dangerous. He knows the truth about all of us, Josef… he has learned our secrets. After his encounter with Endrella, he went to the oldest universities in the world and studied them, their books and legends, searching for answers to mortality. And worst of all, he has shared this information with other individuals of like-minded principles. He is no mere man, nor is his savagery to be underestimated. He is mad, insane to the very core of his being, and that makes him perilous, not only to those mortals unfortunate enough to encounter him, but for our kind as well. We suspect that this recent series of brutal assaults are calculatingly done, that they serve a purpose that he hopes to achieve, along with the assistance of his companion."

Remembering the force with which the stake had been driven into his heart, Josef inquired, "Who is his associate here in London?"

"We do not know. You are the only one who has seen him. We attempt to watch Dr. Caville carefully, but we cannot be everywhere at once, and he does not lurk abroad only in darkness. He knows we cannot follow him in daylight and so he hides from us, among the humans of this great city, using them to prevent our kind from drawing too near. You must be cautious now, for he has seen your face, and he is not a man accustomed to forgetting faces. He saw mine but once in the shadows, and each time I have encountered a description of his assailant that night, it was flawlessly my own." Endrella looked more tired than concerned with that last statement, her youthful form hampered by its limitations. There were dangers in such recognition, which was why vampires kept so much to themselves, the avoidance of publicity or of humans discerning the truth. Vampires could not change over the years, and that made it difficult to hide if someone was searching for you.

"So you allow him to remain at liberty so that you might discern who knows the truth," he surmised. There was a danger in that but also a stroke of brilliance, for it allowed them to name their enemies, but it also meant a madman was allowed to roam the streets preying on the innocent. His companions admitted it was so and a curious silence fell between them, the street beyond the grimy windows quiet, for no one was about at this early hour. It would not be long before people stirred and then the body would be found, dismembered in the alley, his dark purpose fulfilled. Endrella was pensive as she said, "We have experienced vampire genocides before, as you well know, Josef… in France during the so-called Revolution. That was no more than an attempt to be rid of the vampire aristocracy, for our secret had become known. Fortunately, the few who were aware of the truth concealed it well, and the rest were only caught up in bloodlust. And they say that we are hungry for blood? Humans spill more of it than all our kind combined. What of the Witch Trials? There were no witches, no, that is not why such rampant fear spread, nor why some insisted the bodies be burned rather than hanged. It was before your time, so you do not remember the burnings in London during the reign of Mary Tudor, or her father--Catholics and Protestants? Hardly, but it was a pretty excuse, was it not? We cannot stop him, or we risk discovery."

"But if you do not stop him, more women will die. Whatever madness he is up to, it must be ended. There _must _be a way to silence him without prompting retaliation from his associates." Josef's eyes glittered in the darkness, for he felt passionately about this. It was not that he cared so much about humans, but that this form of brutality was beyond even his morbid sensibilities. That a vampire had created this problem and left him to ravage the world in misery and dark obsession was repulsive to him. "If he were to vanish, both he and his companion, no one would ever discern the truth."

"But we do not know his companion, only that he minds the trap waiting at a distance while the doctor butchers his whores. We have never seen him, and his scent is impossible to distinguish. He knows how to mask and conceal it. He _has_ no scent." Endrella was impassioned, her frustration evident, and Josef knew that however demure, however distant, however little she cared for humans, this pattern of violence disturbed her, for it was all at her behest. If she had drunk a little more, if she had snapped his neck, if she had thrown him into the river as he had planned, no such madman would walk the earth. But in her carelessness, in that childish disinterest and short attentiveness that plagued so many of her tender age, she had used and thrown him aside without being certain of the outcome.

The candle went out in its pool of wax, melting into the chinks on the bedside table where it remained, a trail of smoke drifting upwards as the blackened wick folded over into the damp wax. None of them lamented its loss, for their eyes gleamed in the slowly approaching dawn, each of their thoughts distant but connected, for they sensed that all of them regretted that there was nothing to be done. It was then that it came, the sound of an alarm being raised, the echo of police whistles followed by the pounding of feet as constables emerged from the fog to convene in the central square. It came not from where Josef had been found, nor where he had almost ended the life of the Ripper, but another direction and caused all of them to turn to one another, concerned.

"There was more than one?" the count inquired to the eerie silence, and without a word, all of them left the ramshackle room above the boarded up storefront and passed into the gloom, emerging at the mouth of the alley where a morbid group of onlookers gathered, pale beneath their shawls and top hats, some of them roused from bed with their shirt tails not tucked into their trousers. Endrella pushed her way to the front and was turned aside by a constable, who told her, "Now, this is no sight for a young un!" Josef was tall enough that he could see over the heads of the crowd, but somehow made his way forward without anyone noticing him, stunned to view the carnage in the alley. He was hardly listening when running feet bore one of the police messenger boys, panting as he said, "There's another! Just down the way, in the square!"

There had been two murders in one night. He wondered how it had happened, if it had been intentional or that a second woman had strayed into Cavalle's path and met the unfortunate end of his instrument of death. Perhaps it was an indication that the end was near, that the doctor feared he would soon be discovered, and had doubled up out of convenience rather than to risk two separate murders on different nights. The count and his daughter had vanished into the gloom and he was alone in the crowd, until a hand touched his arm and he turned to find Mary looking up at him, concern written into her slender features. "Are we all going to die, then?" she whispered. "He is getting all of us, all of the girls… Polly and Annie, and Kate…"

Discreetly taking her by the arm, Josef led her into the shadows and away from the growing crowd. "You will be safe if you remain indoors," he said. "They went out, didn't they? He will not come for you if you are not out at night."

"I'm all by myself now," she bemoaned. "Tessa has gone to the country until it's over. I'm scared, sir!" She covered her face with her hands, fingers protruding through the holes in her gloves, and he felt a mild sense of annoyance that she would not listen to him. Informing her that she should return home, Josef gave her a sovereign and told her to lock her door and close the draperies, if it made her feel safer. She went along the street without a backward glance and he faded into the fog as the Inspector arrived, his features worn from an endless battery of inquiries from his superiors. The newspapers would be quite gruesome that morning and he did not bother to read any of them, surprised only as he walked through London that a hansom cab was pulled up at the small house that Coraline leased in the autumn months.

She had, he believed, gone abroad as he had asked her to, but as he ascended the stairs, he sensed her presence. The door opened before he could ring the bell and released the duke onto the step, his handsome features showing surprise as he encountered Josef. "If it is not my old friend," the man said with a smile, holding out his hand for it to be shook and his eyes lighting up with the prospect of more billiard games, and conversation over brandy glasses. "You have not been to the club in awhile, Josef. I keep a corner chair for you at all times. Do say you will come again soon. Coraline, my dear, you must persuade him!"

"Josef cannot be persuaded of anything that he does not desire," she answered, as beautiful as she had been when last he saw her, all dark ringlets and shimmering red satin. She rested her head against the open door and looked at them both contentedly, even mischievously, bidding her companion farewell as he retreated down to the coach and it pulled away with a clatter into the street. Indicating that her new guest should come in, she stepped out of his way as he closed the door behind them. "I know that look," she said as she passed down the corridor in a rustle of crinoline. "It's the same one Lance has whenever he is displeased with one of my decisions. It does not suit you any more than it suits him."

Entering the parlor and sinking with a sigh into the nearest chair, Coraline surveyed him with interest, noting that he was more pale than when she had seen him last. "I thought you had gone to France," he said, and she waved one hand airily in an indication of dismissal.

"I did, and it was dreadful, so I have returned here. There is no further danger, and I was gone long enough for anyone to believe that my housekeeper is alive and well." Her lips twitched. "And not buried somewhere." There was a girlish giggle that accompanied it that amused him, for she was as content in her knowledge as he was in his own, although he dared not tell her all he had learned. Even Coraline had her limits, and the tiniest amount of the truth would arise in her such a profound element of curiosity that once ignited, it would be a flame that would never burn out. He did not mind her being there, in truth, for he found that life was considerably more pleasant in her company rather than stalking the streets of the lower quarter, and for several days they infrequently met one another for conversation.

The Ripper never struck twice within a week's time and it was no different this time. It was even possible that Josef's assault on him, preventing him from finishing his devious work, had shaken him enough to avoid Whitechapel for the time being. The police were out in full force, the newspapers eager to make claims and lay the blame on potential suspect, mocking the shoddy job of Scotland Yard, while the politicians attempted to reassure the common people that this reign of terror would soon come to an end. It comforted him to know that the count and his daughter also roamed those streets in the long hours of the night, swift and cunning shadows that remained unseen by the police, but that he knew were there. They sensed one another's presence and took heed of it, each watching and waiting, hoping for an opportunity to prevent the inevitable.

Sometimes, in the early evening, Josef would remain at the club, always in observation for the doctor whose presence he had sensed there previously, but the man did not return. Instead, the duke was there to smile and talk with him, his interest heightened by Coraline, for he was becoming fascinated with her—the beauty, the charm, the natural graces that accompanied each of her movements and mannerisms. There was a hint of lust beneath his fascination, a hue of admiration in his eyes, a constant awareness that she would be a most expensive trinket with which to adorn himself. Josef did not dissuade or warn him, did not attempt to halt the increasing obsession, knowing it was what she wanted: an independent source of income that would separate her from her brother forever. Robert could give her that, and for this purpose alone she was devoted to his seduction, to immense flatteries and tea parties and attending the Opera, always laughing and flirting and making herself desirable in every respect.

"She is rather a mysterious woman, isn't she?" Robert asked him once, curiosity in his gaze and a cigarette extending from between his curved fingers. "There is something very old about her at times."

On many nights when he walked those narrow streets, Josef went to the little flat where Mary remained and turned his eyes toward the window to check on her. More often than not the curtains were drawn and he could see no more than her shadow as she went about her evening activities. Mary liked to sew and would sit beside her meager fire, eyes strained beneath the bad light, stitching the hem of her garments until at last she could go to sleep. He never remained long and after several weeks had gone by, believed he had frightened the Ripper off for the time being. Perhaps it was that the police were too involved, that there were constables on every corner, and that most of the prostitutes in the area were too terrified to go out of doors. But there were no more victims, the entire month of October passing without consequence or scandal. Journalists wondered if the Ripper had not been killed or imprisoned. Inspectors considered the men they had recently arrested, and wondered if the Ripper had escaped abroad.

London society waited in anticipation for something, anything to happen… and it never did. Winter was now upon them, and a cold, soaking rain that seeped into everything and brought the world into a perpetual state of dampness. It was miserable weather and evening was just closing in upon them as Josef parted from the duke and made his way to Whitehall, his thoughts on nourishment and the comfort of his bed. He had no intention of walking the streets tonight, his mood somewhat discontented, his footstep solitary along the street that fed to his flat. It was in the doorway that he hesitated, wondering, looking out into the gaslight and then stepped back down into the gutter, the rain pouring over him, his eyes sinister in the shadows as he made his way down the waterlogged street. It was bitterly cold and the rain threw off all his natural senses, making it difficult for him to catch a scent, any scent, which might have indicated his kind were abroad that night. No doubt Endrella was curled up in her comfortable hotel room with a doll or a book, turning its pages with precise, slender fingers.

It was at the corner street that he smelled it, so pungent that it was unmistakable, a scent that surged through his body and prompted nervous responses, sharpening his eyesight and his teeth as he turned his head toward the source: blood.


	10. Chapter 10

Every muscle in his body tensed, but he could make out nothing in the darkness that surrounded him on either side, the gaslight flickering so low that it was almost useless in the storm. The scent of human was faint, muted by the buildings on either side, and for an instant he remained there, suspended between reality and fantasy, his tension gathering as he realized why he could not sense it, why the rain did not dilute it, why it tasted so pure in the air. It was not coming from an alley like the others had, but from one of the rooms that faced the street, at no great distance but near enough that he was confused as to its origins.

For an instant he refused to believe the truth, and then a haunting thread of assurance came over him, for there was but one window of importance to him on this street, one human that he cared at all for, a pretty little twenty-something girl from the country who had sought to trust him even when he demanded so much from her. The single room that she occupied was just along the street, and from here he could see a faint glow coming from within. He approached the door with trepidation, no scent arising to meet him beyond that of fear… and blood. It was far stronger now, as his hand turned the knob and found the door unlatched, allowing him into a small, meager space that he had seen many times before. He stared within and then entered, finding the room empty of all but its victim, spread out across the bed, her throat cut, nothing but a gaping wound where her chest had been. Dr. Caville had not taken her organs like he had done the others, for many of them were left in the room, positioned almost mockingly, all but her heart. It alone was gone, into that gruesome little black bag, to be carried off into the darkness.

This was not a random choosing of a victim, or even a game of sport, for it was meant for him. The doctor must have known, must have heard, or seen him some night, watching this window, or speaking with the girl in the street. Perhaps his accomplice had witnessed an interaction, or even suspected. Maybe he had asked questions around the surrounding streets, but something had brought him here, to intentionally leave a brutal message for the vampire that had nearly ended his life. The glee with which it had been done was obvious, but also evidence of a trembling hand, no doubt worried he would be discovered. Josef did not need to witness the crime to sense what had happened. His hand came to rest on the last thing Mary had touched, resting her needlepoint on the small shelf near the door. It was beautiful, the only beautiful thing she possessed, a slender circlet of roses that had left her with a smile as she had answered the knock, no doubt anticipating one of her friends.

He had pushed her violently, hard enough that she had struck her head, her scream silenced as he slapped her to the floor, then dragged her across to the bed. Streams of red had spurted in all directions, a mercifully swift death that had preceded absolute butchery. Josef was so furious that he could not move, immobile as soft footsteps entered behind him and he sensed Endrella's presence, her eyes enormous beneath the damp cloak that sheltered her unruly curls. "Where is he?" he demanded, and there was such absolute rage in his voice that she did not attempt to thwart him.

"He has a small room off of Buck's Row, number fourteen." Her hand reached out to catch his arm, and he saw the concern in her eyes as she said, "Be careful. For God's sake, remember that we must all pay in the end if you are careless!" But she did not attempt to halt him, brushed aside as he passed out into the downpour, caring nothing for his appearance or the icy raindrops seeping through his garments, his anger becoming settled during the long walk, but by no means quelled. It became calculated, intentional rather than a mindless rage that he could not control.

Number fourteen was nondescript and uninteresting but there was a faint pinprick of light that adorned one of the grubby windows, and an outdoor series of steps that led up to a narrow doorway. It might have creaked beneath his footsteps but for the rain, which drowned out everything, even the creak of the door as it opened, revealing a gaunt form bending over the fireplace, a foul smell issuing from beneath his fingertips as he turned something over in the ashes. It was the cold that crept in around the vampire as he entered that alerted his companion to his presence, a ghoulish smile crossing his face as the door closed behind the slender form, leaving them alone together. The room was quite small and plain, with only a cot and an array of silver instruments set out on a strip of velvet on the near table. Josef knew which one had been used to butcher Mary without having to touch it, for the scent of blood lingered on the end_, her_ blood. His fingertips traced the handles, coming to rest on one of them.

"So," said the Ripper with obvious pleasure, "you found your little whore, did you?" He did not move, remaining at the fireside, a hunched devil against the flames of hell. "She was so pretty, too, the only truly beautiful one among them all, so innocent and unassuming… I thought someone would hear her plaintive cries, but they didn't. She begged me, pleaded with me, even cried, but I did not mind. Her heart, though… so different from the others…." He then stood and revealed the poker in one hand, as well as the churning, blackened remnants of her heart in the ash beneath the fire. The vampire's eyes flickered to it, distant in his emotions, repulsed at its presence, and the grotesque man who stood before him, pleasure in every line of his evil, contorted face. There was no fear in it, only a perverse sense of elation at having triumphed one last time.

"It was her kind that nourished yours the most often," continued the physician, happily. "I watched vampires all across Europe, in darkened arches and alleys, engaging in the most horrific activities, the trading of blood, the taking of blood, and the giving of it. These women gave it to you as readily as they would have given you their bodies—they gave you, and others like you, their essence, and portions of their soul. Most of them were willing enough, but a few were not. Oh, those like you are not bound to them, true, but they are the easiest source of nourishment. If they can offer immortality for your kind, might they offer it for mine? That is what I have been searching for, the answers… not only to eternal life, but for the end of your unnatural race. Vampires, the monsters of children's stories and lurid fantasies, all charm and superiority and underneath, nothing but bloodsucking drabble. I know what you will do to me. I know that you will kill me, and then the truth will come out, all of it. My associate will make it known what happened to me, and there will be such slaughter as was never seen!"

The blackened heart in the grate was no different from the man's eyes, demonic in their fascination, enthralled with the notion of so much bloodshed. It stained his fingers and his cuffs, Mary's blood, now dry but lingering of her essence. Josef had remained silent throughout and only now did his companion seem to notice, approaching him in the midst of that terrible room beneath the eaves, the rain pounding against the roof and muffling all sound from carrying across the street. His hand left the table with the surgical instrument in it, and excitement appeared momentarily in the figure before him. "Come," he said, extending his arms in a gesture of welcome, "and avenge that bloody little whore! Kill me! Go on, do it, and my associate will make your presence known throughout the world!"

"Giving you what you want is hardly punishment," Josef answered. "I have quite another fate in mind." He leapt forward and the man slammed to the floor, knocking the wind from his lungs and causing the back of his head to rebound off the wooden planking. Frost entered Josef's eyes, muting all of their customary rich brown tones, and he snarled, his sharp teeth appearing against the others. There was a moment of realization, of comprehension, in the man he held to the ground, of sudden fear that was deeply rewarding before Josef tore free the bloodstained cravat and seized him by the throat. There was a strangled cry and then nothing, as the Ripper's blood flowed into him, rich and passionate, hot against the coldness of his fangs. He did not make it comfortable, did not make it nice; it hurt as much as he was capable of, for Mary's sake, for Mary and the others, he made it a living hell that lasted as long as it could, until the heart weakened and nearly gave out, until his companion was so white that death was eminent. Victims could live for hours if left alone and Josef did, retreating to watch him suffer, sitting in brooding silence on the sidelines, watching as the pale lips moved but no sound came out, fear causing those murderous hands to contort at his side.

When it was almost too late, when death had all but taken him, Josef calmly took the silver instrument with which the man had caused such devastation and sliced open his forearm. Dr. Caville shuddered and would have shook his head if he was able, but he was too weak to even close his mouth, still open in the silent cry that had been halted forever. With deliberation and more than a trace of meanness, Josef held the wound over the man's mouth and allowed his life force to drip slowly onto the purple tongue. Once he was assured of the result, he arose to his feet and stood over him as the Ripper died. It was agonizingly painful, the transition between life and immortality, this made even more so by the man's repulsion at what was happening to him. When it was finished, and he sat on the floor at the fireside, nothing but hatred glimmered in his eyes. Rather than remain, Josef turned and left the way he had come, encountering Endrella on the stairs.

"You may take responsibility for him now," said Josef to the young woman, so childish in her mannerisms but so ancient in her presence. There was a flicker of respect that accompanied the turn of her eyes, his following as they sensed something transpiring in the room above them. The door was flung open to the sight of a man engulfed in flames, for the Ripper had thrown himself into the fire and now it was eating at him, the screams of his pain soon vanishing as he went up in a magnificent inferno that crumbled into a pile of ash in the center of the room. There was no emotion from either of them, only satisfaction that he had come to such an end, and Endrella said, "I will see to it. You have done more than enough tonight. Go, before my father comes. He must not know what happened."

The rain continued to pour down the gutters as he fled, strengthened by the new blood flowing thickly through his veins. Josef did not know what made him stop, but he did, turning his gaze to the far alley, where movement had caught his eye. It was a trap, sitting there in the darkness, the horse shifting its weight as it endured the rain. Tension passed through him as he approached, disconcerted to find that there was no driver in sight, but he was certain it was the same hansom the Ripper had escaped into that night when he had nearly captured him in the fog. There was a scent of blood about it, but also something else, a fainter but more distinguishable fragrance that reminded him of someone. But he did not know who it was until his hand fell on the card resting on the seat, waiting for him. It was a simple, spiral arrangement, silver against the somber blue, nothing more than a name, but one he knew well: C_oraline_.


	11. Chapter 11

Understanding came to him in a sudden, terrible realization that compelled him to run through the rain, his garments moving behind him, leaping across flooded streets and ignoring the right of way for the milk carts that would soon be traversing the narrow streets. It seemed further than ever before, the distance to Coraline's house unimaginable, but it loomed in front of him in the storm, a faint glimmer of light penetrating one of the near windows. He did not hesitate, but entered, the door slamming against the wall with a resounding thud as he called her name. Silence flourished in the house, but he could sense her presence, as well as that of her companion, and moved down the corridor cautiously, appearing in the doorway of the parlor, where a fire blazed cheerily in the hearth, forcing the cold to linger in the shadows. Robert Prentiss, the fourth Duke of Redsmont, sat contentedly in a chair nearby, a cigarette in one hand. Coraline rested on the floor at his feet, her eyes full of resentment and pain, unable to move for the narrow silver instrument against her throat.

"Josef, I wondered when you would join us," he said with a smile, flicking the ash from his cigarette in the direction of the grate. Intentionally, he cast it toward Coraline and she flinched, the smoldering sparks landing inches from her slender fingertips. "You both had me fooled for a time, you know. In fact, if I had not encountered you in that alley, I might have never suspected the truth—not about you, or this pretty little creature." He tilted her chin up to look into her exquisite features, smiling as he took note of the hatred flourishing beneath her calm resolve. "It's a shame, really," he added. "Two of the most fascinating individuals I know belonging to such a horrific gathering. I found you both invigorating, one to the physical senses and the other on an intellectual basis. Tell me, Coraline, now that I know the truth about you, what did you want from me? Was it my blood or something more?"

"Robert, you are mad. I don't know what you are talking about." She rested her hand on his knee persuasively and he pressed the instrument against her throat, threatening to slice into it, one of only two ways to kill a vampire. There was a faint pinprick of blood that came to the surface, shimmering in the candlelight, the room darkened with the storm that raged in the heavens. It would be dawn in an hour or so, but it was unlikely they would see the sun that day. Removing his cloak, Josef laid it across the back of the nearest chair, his movements as unthreatening as possible as he considered his companion, and the swiftness with which the knife might slice into her slender neck.

The duke sensed his train of thought and looked at him keenly, his eyes glittering like those of a cat in a darkened corner. "Will you risk it, do you think?" he asked softly, the flames crackling behind them. The fire was burning hot and bringing a flush to Coraline's features, for she was seated too near it for her personal comfort. He had clearly come in the early hours, for she was clothed only in her night garments and dressing gown, a vision of white with luxurious dark curls framing her slender shoulders. There was no evidence of a struggle beyond one of her collectables knocked onto its side on the little round table where it sat, having been jostled as he pushed her past into the room. "I told Caville he was a madman for wanting to bait you," the man continued after a significant pause, as his companion unbuttoned his coat and sank into the nearest chair, his mannerisms deliberate but restrained. "Once he saw you in the alley, once he knew what you looked like and who you were, he could not contain his exhilaration at the thought of killing your little trollop. I told him I would have no part of it, but knew you would discern our partnership sooner or later, and came here."

He threw his cigarette away and stroked the top of Coraline's head, his caresses gentle but singular in its mocking candor, for it was evident that he cared for nothing but his own amusement. "Now I know what your kind are like," he continued, "for I have experienced the charm of your companionship, of your flattery, of your indifference and your pursuit. I have always been a man of unique interests, my fascination with anything abnormal, with the occult, with legends and lore, with vampires. Even as a child when I was told they did not exist, I never believed them. Caville came to London already obsessed with their presence in Europe, and I met him at one of our séances. Imagine my surprise to learn his story, and to see the scars the little tart left on him, just here."

Tracing Coraline's throat, he turned his attention once more to her companion. "I told him that everyone would know the truth, that everyone would discover who you are. But I never anticipated such magnificent specimens. How old are you, Josef? Old enough to remember the Revolution, I daresay, perhaps older than that. Did you see the court of Elizabeth, or hear the works of William Shakespeare when they first came upon the stage? Tell me, for I am most intrigued—to live so long and yet live on draining the life from others, it must be a cursed existence." His eyes were away from his captive, but Josef could see her from his position on the narrow settee and saw that her eyes had shifted, their color lessening as she opened her mouth just enough to reveal her teeth. Robert had subdued her temporarily, but now that Josef was in the room, she had the confidence to silently scheme with him for her release.

Knowing she wanted him to maintain a distraction, Josef answered, "I have been abroad for many years, three hundred or so, but am no use to you dead. A vampire looks the same in death as any mortal." It was true, for their color faded and their eyes returned to normal, their teeth retracting instinctively. He had seen many of them over the years, numerous corpses, and it was impossible to distinguish between them without the use of scent, without knowing which had been powerful in life. He appeared at ease but in reality was tensed, preparing for what he knew would amount to a fight.

"I do not intend to kill either of you, if I can help it," was the easy response. "No, no, in order to be convincing, both of you must be alive."

Moving so swiftly that he had not time to anticipate her assault, Coraline twisted away from him, ripping her hair out of his grasp as she knocked the blade from his hand. It spun away in the firelight, flashes of light revolving in its path across the carpet, a snarl accompanying the form that launched itself across the room at the intruder. Josef slammed into him with such strength that it sent them both into the window, which gave way beneath their weight and spilled them out into the garden, glass falling in pristine shards as they hit the mud. Robert rolled away from him and sprang to his feet almost as swiftly as his adversary. He lifted a sharpened piece of wood, a remnant of the frame that had come with them into the downpour, and there was more excitement than fear on his face, streaked with mud, already drenched from the rain.

"There is no place for your kind here," he said, shouting to be heard over the water foaming in the gutters. "But I would have everyone know of your existence!" He was hardly formidable now, like a child waving a stick in front of a ravenous lion, but still the vampire was careful as he approached, gauging the distance and then launching himself across it. He caught the duke around the throat and hurled him twenty feet; the man hit the high stone fence that surrounded the garden and dropped to the ground, still clutching in his fingers the wooden stake. Remaining motionless for longer than Josef had anticipated, the vampire approached, wondering if he had harmed him, cautious but sensing the slowing of the man's heart. He reached down and turned the duke's face to the light, the eyes staring into nothingness. Damp dripped down the side of his face, and the vampire straightened up.

"Is he…?" Coraline had come out into the storm and stood on the lower step, just under the eaves so that she would not be drenched, appearing like a ghost in the surrounding darkness. The ruin of the window gaped open beside her, broken glass littering the ground beneath it, and she hugged her slender frame out of concern more than the cold as she stood on her toes to see past him, to the slumped form at the foot of the garden wall. Josef turned to look at her, and that is when his companion struck, with a movement so swift and violent that he could not prevent it, bringing up the narrow shaft of wood and pushing it up into his ribcage. It missed his heart by mere inches but sent him slamming to the ground, Robert's face eerie in the gloom as he rose to his feet with murderous intentions.

Then, the gunshot rang out, echoing in the tumult around them and elation was replaced by disbelief as the duke sank to his knees and then fell forward into the earth, the scent of newly spilt blood mingling with the stench of gunpowder. Josef looked up to find Coraline standing behind him, the revolver still held out in front of her, her features like marble, cold and resolved. Thunder rumbled overhead and the rain continued, the sound of it suddenly much louder than it had been before. There was no response from the surrounding houses, convincing them the shot had gone unnoticed. Lowering the pistol, Coraline came to assist him indoors, pulling the edges of his shirt back to reveal the angry-looking wound. It was warm in the kitchen, and she retrieved a decanter of blood from near the stove. She did not speak as she wiped the blood away from the wound, Josef draining the decanter. It was a sweetly tasting blend, a mix of Creole and aristocracy, but its healing abilities helped reduce his misery.

"We have only a few hours before dawn," Coraline said, thinking of what yet had to be done. There was no emotional response from her, nor remorse or even anger over what she had been through, not even disappointment in what she had lost, her one potential means of escaping her brother's domineering influence. Her parlor was in wreckage and the duke lay unmoving in the mud, but even if she managed to maintain her resolve, Josef could sense that Coraline was not as calm as she outwardly appeared. Beneath her capable fingertips, his wounds healed and left him whole again, the entire night no more than a blackened memory in the recesses of his mind. All he had witnessed and participated in were distant to him, from the Ripper in his horrific little room of horrors to the body of the poor girl who had trusted him, who had stood up for him among her companions. Her voice echoed in his ear. "Because you wouldn't… you are different from the others…"

Flickering candlelight surrounded them as each were lost in their thoughts, Coraline moving slightly away from him in the shadows, her slender form pale beneath the white lace of her dressing gown. Josef remained leaning against the edge of the table, his eyes brooding as he confessed, "I could not save her. I thought of her too late, just a common country girl. He butchered her like she was a calf in the slaughterhouse, and I could do nothing to prevent it." The fierceness of his eyes connected with hers for an instant and then lowered, concealing their nature as she considered him from across the room. Coraline stood awkwardly and then came toward him, placing her arms around his trim waist and resting her chin against his shoulder.

"It is not your fault, Josef. You once told me that you hold no regrets, that everything in your estimation is just a passing reference, and can never arise to haunt you unless you let it." Drawing back, she looked him in the face and touched his cheeks with her hands, cool against the warmth of the blood passing through his veins. She smiled. "Now, what do you say we something about the body and then leave London for good? Suddenly, I am missing the streets of New York. There's a ship leaving at noon. Will you come with me, and leave all of this dreadful business behind?"

Her offer was nothing more than a gesture of friendship, of mutual escapism, of even a meager form of friendship, and normally it would not have appealed to his solitary nature, but Josef had seen enough solitude in those long months to last him a lifetime. Coraline was nothing if not precocious, her ruthless determination shaken but not defeated, a smile lurking at the corner of her luscious lips as she allowed him time to consider what they might conspire toward at sea. It would be paramount to traveling with a madman, for she was dangerous and unpredictable, just the way he liked his companions—more vampire than humanity. She was still looking at him with avid anticipation lurking behind her bewitching brown eyes, her fingertips resting on his lapels as she awaited an answer.

"You merely want my financial assistance," he said presently.

"How true, but come now, is not your life considerably more interesting with me in it?"

"Undeniably so, but I have yet to determine whether or not it is a positive change."

"Then allow me to make up your mind for you. We are leaving for New York on the noon ship, but first, something must be done about Robert." She indicated the prone form still resting in the mud, the rain lessening as the morning approached, with the promise of another beautiful autumn day in Britain. With much consideration, Josef found a solution that amused as much as entertained him.

"Let us leave Robert Prentiss as a gift for a friend of mine. Let's put him on the steps at Scotland Yard, with a note addressed to the honorable Inspector Abberline." There was a hint of maliciousness to it that delighted her, and it was a plan done without much thought or grave intention, the delivery of a body in a small trap to the low steps of the mightiest police force in London. How it transpired, no one ever knew, nor did it make the front page, even with Henrietta snooping about for information, only that when the morning watchman came to relive the other officer on duty, he found Robert Prentiss where they had left him, muddied up and considerably unrecognizable beneath his cloak, perched against the gates. Beside him was a single pearl-handled revolver that Coraline was loathed to part with, and a note tucked inside his waterlogged waistcoat addressed to the leading inspector on the Ripper case. All it said were, "There will be no more murders."

"Surely not," protested the police commissioner when he was told, "no, it cannot have been the duke! He is fourth in line for the throne, outside the royal family! No, no, this must be silenced! Hush it up! No one must ever know, if indeed it is true."

Shortly before the noon sailing, a young man strolled the length of the dock and approached the newspaper boy standing on the corner. He bought one of the editorials and unfurled it to witness the gruesome front page headline, the vicious indoor murder of a prostitute in Whitechapel. On the fourth page, in the left column, was the announcement that a distant member of the royal family had been murdered in what the police assumed had been a shoddy case of thievery. Investigators had been assigned and it was with much grief that the public mourned the loss of one of their greatest patrons, a supporter of the arts, an opera attendee, and one of the wealthiest men in London. The newspaper boy watched the young man as he read it, walking away across the weathered wood of the dock. There was something unusual in his stance, in the manner of his carriage, also in the form of the remarkably beautiful woman that awaited him at the foot of the gangplank.

As he folded the newspaper and placed it beneath one arm, she said, "Anything significant?"

"No," he answered carelessly, and up they went.

The newsie watched them as long as they were in sight along the foreword deck and then turned back to the customers milling about the docks, his pristine voice resounding through the air. "Latest news: another murder in Whitechapel! Get all the gruesome details here! Read all about it!"

THE END.


End file.
